


Southpaw

by hissingmiseries



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Boxing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Eventual Romance, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hissingmiseries/pseuds/hissingmiseries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Aaron's a southpaw boxer who gets dragged into the world of illegal backstreet fights, all gloves and testosterone, where he meets a collection of fellow boxers, a ruthless trainer, an anxious medic and a pretty little businessman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. KrossFit Gym

Aaron's always adored boxing. Ever since he was a boy.

There's just something about the swell of anticipation, the spur of adrenaline when he's suddenly thrust into the ring and sees his opponent just as jacked up as he is, gloves taped and heart throbbing. The bell sounds, and suddenly he's moving, ducking and jabbing and  _breathing -_ he was always told to make sure he breathes. Protect yourself, your arms are your shield and you need to use them. Move around but don't tire yourself out, don't go for it unless you spot a moment of weakness, or an open area of skin to pummel a fist into. Take advantage of everything, and when he's down on the floor, keep him down. Wait for the bell to signal your victory, then allow the relief and triumph to flood through.

His mum wasn't too keen when he began developing the interest. She'd grimace and flinch at the matches on the television, squirm when blood began pouring, whilst Aaron watched in silent awe, trying to remember as many tactics as possible. He begged her for lessons, and at first she'd brushed them off with a hasty 'I'll think about it,' which soon turned into a downright irritated 'No.' (Sometimes followed with a sympathetic 'I just don't want you to get hurt, love). So, he was left to just study the screen instead.

It was during secondary school when he heard news of a training club which occurred in the gym, a few hours after the school day had ended and everyone had dispersed off to their homes. He told his mum he was staying behind for extra revision, which of course was met with raised eyebrows and immediate suspicion (he'd never revised properly a day in his life), but it wasn't like she could have stopped him, and both of them knew it. 

Dragging his gym kit along with him was harder to explain, along with why he constantly returned from school drenched with sweat, but Aaron ignored the third degree he received. Eventually he managed to time it perfectly where he could dart up the stairs and straight into the shower before Chas could even rise from the couch.

Over the months his muscles swelled and grew, a result of the amount of hours he spent attacking a punchbag and doing sit-ups until his core shuddered, which attracted a lot of attention from fellow female classmates, and an equal amount of jealous scowls from the boys. He didn't care about the girls. That was another plus of being a boxer.

 

 

There aren't any boxing rings in Emmerdale. The Yorkshire Dales isn't exactly renowned for producing athletes.

The gym hums with noise, idle chatter and grunts of pain, and the second floor's characterized by the incessant thuds of padded gloves smacking against swinging punchbags. Men and women, all sweaty and scantily-clad, heave as they suck in much-needed oxygen before starting up again and throwing the next punch.

Aaron's amongst that crowd, in the corner with a man he'd met once before in the exact same spot. His hands sweats profusely inside the gloves, liquid swims down his forehead and stings his eyes, but he refuses to stop. The man (whose name he vaguely remembers... Jack or John or something generic like that) wears pads on his palms, barking orders.

"One-two jab! Uppercut. Jab four. Keep your arms up. One-two jab. Jab eight. Arms, I'm not going to tell you again!"

Aaron scowls and sucks in another breath, raising his arms. 

"Okay, jab four and uppercut."

He does as instructed; his arms lurch out, muscles writhing beneath his skin, and it might not be the most graceful performance, but it's enough to send the man with the pads stumbling back with the ghost of a smile, trying to conceal how impressed he is.

"Alright, take a break," he nods, and Aaron peels the gloves off and tosses them aside before grabbing the nearest seat and getting his breath back. His clothes stick to him like glue, and the showers are calling for him, but he knows he has a while before training's over, so he takes the time to look around at the other trainers. Some are more drenched than others, some working out much more intensely than others, legs dancing and arms flying and punchbags being battered left, right and centre. A cluster of guys who obviously all know each other had congregated near the drinking fountain, talking noisily over one another, and some other lone wolves are pushing themselves on the weights, most of them visually in pain. Aaron lets out a scoff - he'd only ever injured himself once on the weights, and he vowed he'd never go near them again.

Two men tucked away in the opposite corner keep to themselves, obviously engulfed in an intense training session. Well, one of them is. One of them is swinging at the punchbag so rapidly the cylinder never has chance to swing back down, his mop of brown curls soaked with moisture and jaw visibly clenched. The other one, a muscular figure, looks much more relaxed, perched on a seat with his water bottle in his grasp, and his eyes looking right across at Aaron, piqued with obvious interest.

Aaron frowns slightly at this stranger - what's his problem?

The muscular guy stands, revealing his true towering height, and begins to make his way over, swaggering like the arrogant bastard he probably was. _Oh joy._

"Afternoon," he greets with a nod, and Aaron stays silent, but nods in return. "What's ya name?"

"The Loch Ness Monster," he replies, and the annoyance flares in the stranger's eyes.

"Well then, _Nessie_ ," the stranger spits the last word, having obviously decided his opinion on Aaron already. "How long you been boxing?"

"What's it to you?"

"Business," he says, and that makes Aaron's ears perk up, causing a smirk to cross the stranger's face. "And if you stop being a miserable twat, there could be something in it for you too."

"'m listening," Aaron says, brow furrowed slightly.

"Me and Adam over there-" he gestures towards the man he'd previously been with, who's pacing around the punchbag, jabbing at it lazily. "We've been watching you,-"

"'Cause that's not creepy at all."

"Shut up and listen. We've been watching you, and Adam's impressed. I'm not as much, but Adam is." Aaron rolls his eyes. Dick. "So, he wants you to come along tomorrow to training."

"Why not just train here?"

"Because here is just for bulking up your muscles. You know the KrossFit gym near the Woolpack?"

"Isn't that place abandoned?" All Aaron can remember of it is boarded up windows and the odd noise coming from inside. 

"Exactly," the stranger grins, eyes practically sparkling. "Be there at ten tomorrow. Say Ross asked for you, if you don't see either me or Adam at the door." Aaron looks back over at Adam to get a decent image of his appearance in his head.

"Okay," Aaron smiles slightly, though the entire operation sounds less than legit, it may give him something different to do that scan newspapers for potential matches springing up. "I'll be there."

"Noted," Ross nods, brushing away a few stray strands of hair which fall into his face. "Well, farewell, Nessie." He turns back and heads over to the other side of the gym.

"It's Aaron!"

"Nessie."

 

After a long shower, Aaron packs up and heads home, passing the old crooked KrossFit on the way. It _looks_  abandoned, the windows concealed with wooden boards and the door locked firmly. But now he listens, decides to concentrate, there's definitely noise in there somewhere.

Aaron finds himself smiling, and he doesn't quite know why.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day rolls around soon enough, a lazy, lifeless Sunday, and Aaron finds himself outside crooked old KrossFit at ten past ten in the morning. There's nothing better to do - nothing but reality shows and show repeats grace the TV screen, and everyone's either tucked up at home sleeping in or running errands. So, having exhausted all other options, he stands outside the rusted, bolted doors to the gym, wondering if this entire thing was just a stitch up.

He can definitely hear noise coming from the inside. It's muffled by the thick walls, and almost completely drowned out by the growl of passing cars, but it's just audible enough to leak through the gaps in the windows. It's mainly male voices, the words unclear.

He lifts a knuckle and knocks hesitantly on the door, _one, two, three_ , and the echoes ripple throughout the building. The voices inside quieten, and a quick flash of trepidation rushes through Aaron when he realises he could have interrupted some shady deal and he should probably run for the hills whilst he still has both his kneecaps, but just as the twentieth second of waiting passes by and he's about the turn away, a loud creak emerges from the dingy little alleyway which hugs the side of the brickwork.

"Adam, I swear to motherfucking god, if you've lost the damn key agai- oh." Ross' voice arrives before he does. He immediately starts shivering when he comes out into the cool morning air, the slick sheen of sweat and small clothes emphasising the sudden temperature change. "Nessie. Didn't think you'd show up."

"It's Aaron," he replies through gritted teeth. Ross smirks again, fully enjoying Aaron's annoyance. "And why wouldn't I show up?"

"'Cause I wouldn't if some random guy in the gym asked me to pay a visit to this shithole." Ross digs a hand into his pocket and pulls out a silver key, dull with smudgy fingerprints, before tossing it to Aaron, who catches it with ease. "Door's down here. You'd need a sledgehammer to get through the main one."

The alleyway's dark and smells of takeaway chips and cigarette smoke. The _real_ door is much more inconspicuous, almost the exact same shade of orange as the bricks, and it swings open with a groan.

Aaron's almost overbalanced by the powerful stench of sweat which greets him. The entire room, a spacious square with dark green walls and an ugly linoleum floor, absolutely _reeks_ , ten times worse than any real gym Aaron's been to. He's not quite sure which surprises him more - the actual smell, or Ross' complete lack of reaction to it.

"We've been looking for some decent boxers," Ross explains as he makes his way across the room, Aaron following quickly behind. There isn't much in such a large room. A boxing ring which has definitely seen better days sits in the centre, and the training equipment surrounds it, with a couple of men stood beside them, all of them obviously on a break from training and guzzling water. A couple more doors lead off to other rooms - a locker room, maybe, and possibly a storeroom. "Unfortunately most of our best end up injured, or they quit after some humiliating loss. Nobody likes losing money."

"Okay..." Aaron trails off as he takes in his surroundings. He's somewhat adjusted to the smell now. It isn't so nauseating. "So, why am I here?"

"For the strip show, obviously," Ross replies with an eye roll. "You're a boxer, you moron, why the hell do you think you're here?"

"Well, I haven't got any kit on me." He _knows_ he should have brought a training bag with him.

"Then you better run along home and get it, hadn't you?"

"Hang on," Aaron says, trying to piece everything together. "What do you actually _do_ here? Is it just some massive circle jerk session for wannabe boxers?"

Ross lets out an impatient sigh, realising that he probably should have done a better job at explaining this before. "We hold matches here. People bet on fighters. We win money when we win matches. End of."

"And is this legal?"

"Pfft. It's as bent as Adam-" He's cut off by a sudden lone glove that comes flying his way, followed by a call of 'prick!'. "But who cares? You get paid to win boxing matches. What are you complaining about?"

~

It doesn't take long for Aaron to decide what to do. Thirty seconds later and he's dashing back home, hastily getting changed into a rough sports kit and slinging his gloves over his shoulder, and five minutes later he's back in the gym, already sweating bullets from the humidity.

He finds an empty punchbag and immediately gets to work, jabbing swiftly, and he can feel the eyes of the other boxers on him, observing him. He feels like the shiny new toy, and he's only training for three minutes before one of the boxers approaches him - the boyish-looking, brown-haired lad from the proper gym yesterday. Adam, if he remembers correctly.

"Alright, mate!" Adam greets cheerfully, his enthusiasm genuine, and Aaron likes his pretty much straight away. "You're... Aaron, right?"

"That's me," Aaron confirms, steadying the punchbag. "And you're Adam. What's it like here?"

"Oh, it's not bad," he replies, flexing his tanned arms as he tightens his gloves with his teeth, and Aaron can't help but glance at the man's muscles glowing in the hazy lighting. "Ross is much more bearable when he's in a decent mood. You'll probably come across his little brother, Finn - he's the medic. Cain's the trainer, do your best not to piss him off, the guy pretty much walks around under a thunder cloud. Those guys over there-" Adam points over to three boxers, one shirtless with a skipping rope, the other two on the floor, performing sit-ups. "- that's David, Jeremy and Heath. They're good mates."

Ross, Finn, Cain, David, Jeremy, Heath... too many names are running through Aaron's head.

"Jai's in charge of business. He's rarely ever in, and David's pretty much the only guy here he gets along with. Just go to him if you don't get paid."

"When's the next match?" The question's bugging him, so Aaron says it as soon as Adam finally stops talking.

"Erm... Thursday, I think. Heath's fighting some landmonster and he's booked to win, so..." he finishes the sentence with a grimace, and alarm bells immediately begin ringing in Aaron's head.

"Booked to win? You guys do that shit here?" As much as he loves boxing, Aaron doesn't particularly love the idea of being forced to fight twelve rounds with the Incredible Hulk beating the shit out of him the entire time.

"Dude, it's a gambling sport. Jai just does it to suck up to the richest betters. And you better hope you get booked to win, too - it's a hell of a lot better than being booked to lose. Making that look genuine is fucking difficult."

Aaron has to agree.

"Look, Ross clearly likes you, and you seem like a nice enough bloke, so you'll probably get a visit from Jai soon enough. Just don't be sarcastic - he hates that - and don't be cocky. He literally has bodyguards following him around like he's royalty."

So far, this Jai guy seems like a royal prick, but Aaron doesn't want to get kicked out (or break his collarbone) just yet. Besides, he kinda likes it here. It feels strangely homely.

~

 Just as Adam predicted, Aaron's whipping a skipping rope over his head and beneath his feet so fast it disappears into a blur when he's approached by a tall, scrawny fellow in a suit, accompanied by a Neanderthal-looking beefcake, all muscle and no brain. Heath, the fellow Aaron's found himself becoming pretty well acquaintanced with, immediately straightens up at the smart man's arrival, casting Aaron a look and a cough to grab his attention.

"You must be Aaron," Jai says with a polite (if forced) grin, holding out his hand, which Aaron shakes. "Nice to have you join us. I'm Jai, I organise your matches, and sort the business. You come to me if you need anything - kit, medicine, supplements... anything."

"Will do," he smiles, and Jai nods again, before disappearing back through a door which can quickly be deduced as his office. Aaron quickly decides that he really doesn't ever want to find himself in there.

"Aaron, come on, mate, let's do some training," Heath calls, tossing him his gloves, and Aaron pulls them on, Heath tying them hurriedly before both of them take their stance.

"Ooh, southpaw, are we?" Heath grins before he throws the first punch, which Aaron effortlessly dodges. Yes, he's definitely going to like it here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is going to be long - I thought I'd have introduced half the main characters by now, but nope. Stay tuned, though, I'll try and update as much as I can!


	3. Adam's Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, this one's long. Sorry about that :P But... welcome Robert! (very very briefly but hey, he's finally here).

"Money is money. Don't you want to get paid?"

"Not for this shit! I am not standing there for twelve fucking rounds like a piece of meat then hitting the mat for a guy that I can _very easily beat_!"

"I'd appreciate it if you spoke to me with a bit more respect."

" _I'd_ appreciate it if you stopped being such a greedy twat, but we can't all have our own way, can we?"

It's all kicking off in Jai's office. The rise of voices had begun about twenty minutes ago, the result of a topic which clearly no one wanted to talk about being brought up, and had since evolved into full-blown squabbling. Adam's angry, gruff yell echoes throughout the gym, bleeding into every small side room, whilst Jai's calm, businessman-like tone is just about audible due to the door being left ajar. Aaron waits outside, leaning against the damp wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his gloves loosened, waiting for his friend so they could go and blow off some steam before Adam goes out and punches somebody.

Aaron's been going to KrossFit for two weeks now, and although he hasn't been called for a match yet, he's seen plenty of his fellow boxers enter the ring. They all came out with a couple cuts and bruises, but one of the downsides of backstreet boxing isn't the blood and pain (if anything, that's what spurs Aaron on). It's the unfairness. The rigged matches. The ones where the fittest, most experienced athletes are forced to take a beating just so Jai's wallet can become a little fatter. Aaron prays daily that his first match is fair.

The door swings so violently the hinges scream, and Adam storms out, visibly shaking with anger. His fists are clenched, and Aaron can see him looking round for something (or someone) to hit.

"Adam, Adam, come on," Aaron says, hesitantly placing a palm on his friend's shoulder, who flinches slightly but doesn't protest. "Get outside and go for a smoke break."

"He wants me to stand there like a fucking idiot for the entire match." Adam reels off the entire conversation as the boys make their way into the alley, obviously unaware of the volume of the argument he'd just been a part of. "I mean, the dude I'm fighting is a sack of flour. A couple good punches and he'll be out cold, and I have to lose to _that_."

It's late afternoon, and a cool air's whistling down the alleyway, carrying the smells of the multiple takeaways with it.

Aaron lets Adam vent for what feels like the next three hours, bumming two cigarettes from him and exhaling the smoke in shapes. His knuckles ache, and he desperately needs a shower, but the running water in this place packed up long ago, so he's forced to wait 'till he gets home.

"You've not even fought yet, have you?" Adam asks after a couple minutes of silence, his heartbeat finally getting back to normal and his jaw unclenching. He's gotten through about six cigarettes, a small pile of crumpled papers at his feet. Aaron shakes his head.

"Well, just you wait. It'll be a goddamn miracle if Jai doesn't fuck you over entirely. Bastard."

"Why the hell do you work here if all you're gonna do is complain?" The question comes out with unintended spite, and Aaron finds himself taking a step back after the look Adam shoots him.

"Where else am I gonna work? Not many boxing rings round here if you haven't noticed - it's a countryside village. That and I haven't got the money to move anywhere."

Aaron nods and leaves it at that, not wanting to provoke him anymore. If he's going to get a black eye, he wants it from a genuine fight.

 

~

 

He's sparring lazily with David when Aaron finally gets to have a somewhat decent conversation with Finn, the medic.

David's hand wrenches inside his glove, and a quick call immediately brings the young boy to his side, medic bag in tow. Finn's a small lad, soft eyes behind a pair of spectacles, the entire opposite to Ross' hardened exterior - at first glance, there's no way they'd been seen as brothers. But a closer look reveals their similar features: the same dark eyes, the same slouchy posture, the same sense of humour, and when they're together, Aaron's never seen a better definition of 'two peas in a pod'.

"I swear to God, this is the third time this week," Finn sighs as he carefully removes David's glove, but there's no anger or annoyance behind his voice. Aaron isn't sure if Finn's even capable of sounding threatening. Even if he was, the cute pudgy cheeks would betray him straight away. "I've said before, give your hand a rest. I'll clear it with Jai."

"I've got a fight next week," David complains, groaning like an impatient child. "Good luck clearing that one with him."

"Oh, come on, you're the only guy here he likes," Aaron interjects, and everyone knows he's right. David's the only guy Jai manages to crack a genuine smile around. Probably fancies him. "He won't care."

David lets out a defeated sigh and nods, before making his way over the changing room, leaving Aaron and Finn alone.

"So..." Finn starts, obviously not wanting to let the silence grow awkward. "Are you- are you enjoying it here?"

"Yeah, it's cool," Aaron nods, roughly untying his gloves with his teeth. "Quite a bunch of characters here, isn't there?"

"Mmhmm, it's great, isn't it?" Finn's eyes light up, his enthusiasm bordering on obnoxious, but Aaron just smiles back. "Wait 'till you meet some of the spectators. Most of them are just drunken weirdos having a night away from their wives, but some of them are really nice."

"Uh huh." Aaron's not sure he believes him. Anyone who voluntarily shows up at a dodgy boxing match has to be just as strange.

In the dim lighting of the gym, Finn's paleness is exaggerated and his eyes glisten. He's so much shorter than everyone else here, and so much skinnier too - he sticks out like a sore thumb. He's quite cute, Aaron notices; there's an innocent look to him, a pout on his lips that makes him look like some kind of puppy. He's pretty, pure, and most definitely gay. Aaron can tell.

That's probably another perk of being a boxer. Nobody really expects a gay guy to be interested in one of the most macho sports in the world, but Aaron's known he was gay even longer than he's been a fan of boxing. He doubts he'll ever be taken seriously if he comes out - he can just imagine the jeers that'll come from the crowds - so he's happy living incognito right now. His family knows, and so do his close friends, and he's happy with that. Besides, everyone in this gym is pretty damn good-looking (even Ross has something about him).

 

~

 

The day after Adam and Jai's outburst, Aaron finds himself called to the very same office, fidgeting with a sudden bout of nerves.

It's a small, cozy room, the walls brown and the floor hardwood, and Jai's slung across a padded chair with his desk in front of him, piled high with paperwork. His beefcake bodyguard's in the corner, wearing the same expressionless face as always.

"How'd you like to fight on Monday?" is his opening question, and Aaron's eyes light up.

"Yeah, sure." _Finally,_ he gets his chance. 

"Good," Jai replies, smiling one-sided. "Word of a new boxer's spread, and everyone wants to see the new guy, see if he's worth the bets."

"So does that mean it's a fair fight?"

Jai scoffs slightly, obviously biting back his first choice of remark before nodding. "Yes, Aaron, it's a fair fight. I'm not going to ask you to hit the mat on your first time. I'm not that much of an asshole."

"Am I allowed to go and watch Adam's fight tonight?" he asks, and Jai's jaw visibly tightens.

"Even though you know the result? I'm not stopping you."

Even though he  _does_ know the result, Aaron stills wants to be there to ensure Adam makes it out okay.

 

~

 

When the time of the match rolls around, Aaron can't believe the difference of the gym. Spectators begin filtering in about an hour before the match begins, with some of the smarter ones in suits heading straight for Jai's office whilst the other pot-bellied, beer-guzzling men crowd around the ring, clutching gambling stubs. 

Aaron grabs a seat near Adam's side of the ring, already feeling his shirt begin to stick to him from perspiration, and after a few minutes his hair's already growing damp. Fuck, it's warm. Blame the boarded-up windows and the lack of air conditioning.

The entire crowd looks pretty plain; it's just like Finn said, mostly slightly-drunken men sporting grubby wedding rings, obviously all wanting a night away from the wife and kids. The room practically overflows with sweat and testosterone. 

The cheers begin to swell when Adam comes out of the changing room, gloves tight and shirtless, and then Aaron spots a glimpse of the opponent who Adam's destined to lose to, and immediately understands Adam's anger better than before. The guy just looks _weak_. He's scrawny, ribs and collarbone visible - he'd get the shit kicked out of him in any alleyway brawl. But no, here he is, shaking like a leaf, and Adam has to convincingly lose to him. Fuck.

The bell rings, and the crowd explodes with cheers and shouts for both sides, and Aaron takes some time to look through the crowd, mostly at the some of the more sophisticated-looking ones. How they aren't melting in their suits and shirts is beyond him.

Jai finally comes out of his office to watch the fight, accompanied by two fellow business-looking fellows, one short and chubby, the other tall and blonde. Jai and the chubby guy watch, looking pretty relaxed, but the blonde man looks much more uncomfortable than anyone else there. He flinches slightly every time Adam takes a punch, grimacing when a cut above the fighter's eyebrow begins leaking blood, and Aaron rolls his eyes. Clearly this dude's only here for the money. Anyone with any interest in boxing wouldn't freak out like that.

Adam takes another punch, a violent one this time, one which Aaron's surprised the scrawny guy has in him. He's focusing on his friend in the ring when suddenly the three businessmen are at his side.

"Aaron," Jai says brightly, smiling for some reason (probably trying to make an impression). "Nice to see you here."

Aaron just nods in reply, unsure what to really say to that.

"Guys, this is Aaron, the new guy. He's good - _really_ damn good." Jai says to the men beside him, and the chubby one immediately grins and thrusts his arm out.

"Welcome to the business, kid!" Aaron takes his hand and finds it being over-enthusiastically shook. "I'm Jack."

"Nice to meet you," nods Aaron, trying to sound as polite as possible, even managing to crack a small smile. He turns to the blonde guy, whose head is turned to the fight, eyes glittering with interest. "And you are...?"

"Oh! I'm Robert," he replies when he hears Aaron, turning to face him, and Aaron finds his eyes being drawn to the curve of Robert's jaw instead of his eyes for some reason.

"How's your first boxing match going?" asks Aaron, feeling slightly smug, and Robert raises an eyebrow.

"What makes you think this is my first?"

"Because you look fucking terrified," he replies, and instead of receiving a dagger look like he expects, Robert actually grins.

"No, I'm just upset for the guy who has to throw the fight," he says, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "I'll be impressed if he manages to make that look convincing."

"How'd you know he's throwing the fight?" Jai asks, eyebrows knitted together with confusion. 

"Look at the guy he's fighting - a light wind could blow him over." That brings a scowl to Jai's face, and he turns to Jack, murmurs something, and all of a sudden they're making their way back through the crowd, leaving Aaron and Robert alone in an awkward silence.

"So I'm guessing you've bet on the other guy?" Aaron asks after a few moments of looking at his shoes.

"No, actually." Now it's Robert's turn to be smug, and his smirk is both irritating yet oddly attractive at the same time. Aaron wants to punch him. "Just came here to survey the competition."

"And what's the girlfriend think about that?" Someone with Robert's face must have a girlfriend or wife, though there's no wedding ring on his finger. Robert just shrugs, smirk widening slightly.

"Wouldn't know. Don't have one. The boyfriend, however, just thinks I'm here to check the guys out."

That takes Aaron by surprise - _oh_. 

"And, er... are you?" Suddenly he can feel himself getting hotter again. Aaron puts it down to more people piling into the gym, all emitting body heat.

"It's definitely a perk, isn't it?" is all Robert says before he heads back off into the crowd, and Aaron lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.


	4. Aaron's First Fight

Adam hits the mat on the twelfth round, spitting blood and gritting his teeth.

The crowd erupts, waving their arms hysterically and slapping money into each other's palms and somewhere at the back a chant starts up, laughing Adam out of the ring and into the changing room, where Aaron immediately follows him.

"Stupid fucking idiot," he's growling under his breath, the anger pouring off of him faster than the sweat, blood smudged around his eye where Finn clearly missed it with his swabs, and Aaron just hangs back near the door, knowing that if he tries anything he'll probably get hit out of frustration. "Stupid mother _fucking_ idiot."

"You gonna calm down?" Aaron says deadpan, enjoying the feeling of the cold stone wall against his neck and arms. Adam just keeps muttering and swearing under his breath, pacing back and forth across the room, wearing the floor thin, so Aaron makes his way over to where Adam's bag is slumped lazily against the lockers and throws it to his feet. "Get changed."

"Why?" Adam spits, scooping up the bag.

"'Cause you'll kill someone if you stay here, so we're going for a drink."

Adam complies and hastily gets dressed, tugging his shirt onto his sweat-drenched torso (Aaron shamelessly stares when Adam isn't looking), and follows Aaron back out into the main room. He receives some slaps on the back by the crowd, and some curses from others, so Aaron shoves him out into the open night air. The alleyway is littered with broken beer bottles and the odd stray crisp packet gently blowing across the cobbles. The usual smell of the local chippy is ever present.

They stroll the streets to the second-nearest pub in silence, smoking their way through a shared packet, and when they get there, it's bustling with people knocking back pints. They grab the table in the corner and buy their drinks, Adam with a pint of lager, Aaron swaying for cider. Adam's bloody eye earns him a few glances.

"It's just... so fucking  _unfair,_ " Adam whines into his drink, fingers drumming on the table, and Aaron nods in agreement.

"It's just for business, mate," he says. Aaron's never been good at comforting people. "Jai doesn't give a shit about the fighters. I've only been here a fortnight and I know that."

"Dude, I've been here two years," Adam scoffs. "I don't know how many of my fights have been rigged, but I know it's the majority. Apparently when I lose, he rakes it in."

"Well, you're the best fighter here - betting on you losing is a complete throwaway of money in a fair fight," Aaron says, and it's genuine. Adam smiles up from his drink, flattered.

"Nah, mate, I think you've taken that role. We've all seen you train, literally everyone in the gym is jealous of you." 

Aaron takes a long drink to hide any possibility of his blush being seen.

"I've got a fight on Monday," he announces. "A fair one, thank God."

"Lucky fucker," Adam smirks. "You'll do fine."

"Hope so. You know the other guys much better than I do. I guess I should just pray I get someone like you did tonight."

"His first few punches were actually not bad! I mean, he did this-" he points towards the swollen cut above his eyebrow. "-so it had some power, but by the fourth round he was practically just poking me."

"Are there any other fights on this week?" Aaron asks, so he knows whether or not to stay for them. He always enjoys watching matches, but Adam's easily his best friend now as well, so he wanted to stay for it.

"Erm... David's got one tomorrow, and I think Heath has one the day after. David's is fair, and Heath's booked to win."

"I suppose that's not as bad."

Most of the bar's attention is grabbed when the entrance swings open and a collection of men stagger in, loose with drunkenness, and head to the bar as if the pub isn't busy enough. Aaron recognises quite a few of them from the fight, and comes to the conclusion that they've probably been chucked out of the nearest pub, so they've decided to congregate here. The look of exasperation on the barmaid's face is more than apparent.

Adam rolls his eyes and keeps his head down in his drink, praying he isn't seen so he can avoid the ridiculing he'll probably get.

"D'you wanna go somewhere else?" Aaron asks quietly, but Adam shakes his head, wanting to stand his ground. 

The next ten minutes drag by in a semi-awkward silence as the rest of the pub roars and laughs around them, the barmaid visibly becoming more and more irritated, when suddenly, Aaron feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks up to be greeted by the blonde, chiseled face of Robert.

"Oh," is all he can think to say. "Hi."

"Hey," he smiles, the same smugness embedded in his grin, and again, Aaron kind of wants to punch him. "Good job with the match tonight," he says to Adam, and the way he says it just makes it sound like he's taking the piss. Aaron rolls his eyes.

Adam glares at him, and Robert backs up slightly, obviously not wanting to become the butt of Adam's anger.

"When are the next fights?" Robert asks, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. 

"Tomorrow, the day after, and Monday," Aaron replies, finishing his drink.

"Oh yeah, Jai told me all about your fight," replies Robert. "He's absolutely ecstatic about you, thinks you'll bring in some serious cash."

"Hmm, lovely to know he cares about us, eh?" Aaron scoffs to Adam, and they both chuckle (Aaron feels proud that he's managed to get a laugh from his friend for the first time all day).

"Well, I'm betting on you," Robert says, smirking slightly, and Aaron hesitates - he can't quite tell if he's being flirted with or not. "Don't lose me my money."

Aaron just shakes his head, again unsure of what to say, and realises that's becoming increasingly common when Robert talks to him. Maybe it's the obnoxious arrogance he seems to permanently have - he can't recall a time when the smirk's dropped from his face - or maybe it's the unfair curve of his jaw.

The moment's interrupted when a man as equally tall (and almost as attractive) as Robert practically bounces over, a green bottle in one hand and a beaming grin plastered on his face, swaying with gentle intoxication, and flings his arm around Robert's shoulders. Almost immediately Robert's arm latches around the other man's waist in a move which screams 'Mine!' at the top of its lungs.

"This is Oliver," Robert introduces him, holding him close. "Olly, this is Aaron and Adam. They're boxers at the gym down the road." Oliver simply gives them both a nod, his mop of brown curls bouncing, before diverting his attention straight back to Robert's face, eyes ablaze with alcohol and enthusiasm. Aaron and Adam exchange brief, uncertain looks, and Aaron swiftly decides he doesn't like this Oliver guy. His dislike for him grows when the brunette suddenly yanks Robert back over to the crowd without allowing Robert to even say goodbye. Selfish and possessive - just the traits everyone wants in a partner.

"Why is it always the pricks that get to live happily every after?" Adam spits, watching the couple with a look of pure annoyance, and Aaron just lazily shrugs in response.

 

~

 

When the morning of his fight arrives, Aaron shoots up in bed at precisely five-a.m., stomach groaning with hunger and churning with nerves.

He wolfs down a bowl of cereal, the flakes turning to tasteless glue in his mouth, before drenching himself in the shower, throwing on some ragged old jeans and a shirt and heading down to KrossFit, key in hand.

Unsurprisingly he's the first one to arrive (Jai hasn't even turned up yet), so he gets changed into a vest and sweats and takes him time to get warmed up slowly and carefully. He spends most of the first hour doing sit-ups and stretches, and the next hour just pacing round the gym, resisting the temptation to explore Jai's office and testing the springiness of the boxing ring's ropes. Boredom sets in quickly.

The small back door opens and in stroll Ross and Finn, medic bag in tow and laughing amongst themselves about some inside joke, when they both spot Aaron.

"You're here early, aren't you?" Ross remarks, though there's no spite or suspicion like there would be a few weeks ago. 

"Couldn't sleep," Aaron shrugs, and tosses a roll of tape towards Finn, who just manages to catch it in time. "Can you tape me up?"

"S-sure," Finn nods, dropping his bag at his feet with a slight thud, and begins taping up Aaron's knuckles, tearing it messily with his teeth, before thrusting red gloves onto the boxer's outstretched arms and lacing them up. His long, pale fingers dance clumsily, getting wrapped up in the rope more than once. "Ready for tonight?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Aaron replies with a sigh, not a yes and not a no. "Ta."

"No problem," Finn smiles, and Aaron swears he can see a pink tinge staining Finn's cheeks in the dim lighting, but he decides against commenting on it and embarrassing him. _Yep, definitely gay_. He wonders if Ross knows; most probably, Finn doesn't seem like the type who hides in the closest, and that leads him to wonder if Ross knows that himself, Aaron, is also gay. Sure, he isn't as obvious as Finn, but maybe if he knows about his brother, he's become better as sussing such things.

"Wanna get sparring?" asks Ross, as Finn helps him shove his own gloves on. "Better with me than Cain."

Aaron hasn't interacted with Cain much, but from what he's seen, he's pretty glad about it - the man seemingly walks around with a permanent frown etched on his face, yelling all types of offensive slurs at the fighters when he thinks they're not trying hard enough. Aaron's heard it all - faggot, wanker, prick, shithead, tool - but Cain's vocabulary is on a whole new level.

"You are so shitting yourself about tonight," Ross comments with a smug smile, and Aaron rolls his eyes. "Come on, tough guy, pull yourself together."

"Shut up, I'll be fine," Aaron replies with a huff, and that's all he has to calm himself down. 

 

~

 

A crowd twice the size of Adam's piles into the gym, and Aaron's bordering on throwing up with nerves, which is never a good way to start a fight.

He's shirtless and sweating bullets and his gloves are just tight enough before they become uncomfortable and he's pacing in circles when Adam comes in, wearing normal clothes for once. "Alright, dude, you're on. Jai's waiting."

One deep breath to steady his stomach, and he heads out into the main room.

The crowd immediately roars at his appearance, all desperate to get the first sight of the new guy who's no doubt been bigged up by all the other boxers, and the bets are swiftly being made as Aaron climbs into the ring. His opponent doesn't look special, neither weak nor huge, just a stocky, bearded fellow with a long scar down his left shin - hopefully he's not hiding any secret power behind his veiny arms.

The bell rings and the first round flies by quicker than Aaron anticipates. Barely any points are awarded, it's just the two boxers getting a feel of each other's strength, each other's tactics, which is what everyone expects. It's not until the third round when the eyes start to widen.

Aaron splits the skin above his opponent's left eyebrow, releasing a stream of hot red blood to go trickling into his eyes, and of course Aaron uses it to his advantage. The nerves begin to fade then, replaced with sugary adrenaline surging through him caused by the thrill of the fight and the crowd watching and the knowledge that he's in the lead.

The other guy isn't graceful or agile - he's more about brute strength, the 'bull in a china shop' type - and to be honest, he causes more of his own injuries than Aaron does. 

It's between the sixth and seventh round, when Aaron's in the corner having his gum shield fed to him by Ross, when he spots Jai in the crowd, and the pound signs are gleaming behind his eyes. But it's not Jai who grabs his attention. It's the tall blonde fellow stood beside him, arms folded in his leather jacket (and somehow not sweating one drop), watching with pure fascination in his eyes.

And suddenly, for some reason, Aaron's desire to win rises a level or three.

Maybe it's the 'don't lose me my money' remark from the pub a few days ago, or maybe it's the way Robert's watching, but he can literally feel his motivation rising... and maybe the desire to impress. 

 

~

 

On the eight round, Aaron knocks his opponent out cold, and the crowd absolutely _explodes_. 

They cheer and grin and roar with appreciation. Relief absolutely drenches Aaron, runs through his veins, and the look on Jai's face gives away how impressed he is. 

Robert, however, is nowhere to be seen.


	5. Black and Blue

"Holy fuck," Adam gapes when Aaron gets back into the changing room, and steps forward to assist him in tearing the sweaty gloves from his hands. "That was... fuck, impressive."

Aaron's still regaining his breath and waiting for his adrenaline levels to reduce, so he just smiles in thanks, flexing his fingers and wincing as they uncurl. He's still getting over his win, the surprise that he managed to get through his first match without any fumbles or bloodshed, the gradual disappearance of the arrogance on his opponent's face when they realised that maybe the new boy is better than he looks. It's an addictive feeling, winning, enough to make Aaron forget that any winning streak he begins will probably be severed by Jai's orders.

He tugs on his t-shirt, desperate to get out into the night air so he can escape the climbing heat of the building, and slings his kit bag over his aching shoulder when Jai suddenly walks in, sporting a smart jacket and a satisfied-cat smile.

"Not half bad, Livesy," he comments, thrusting a hand into his inside pocket and pulling out a rectangular brown envelope. "Not bad at all. Here's today's pay - looks like you've got a fan base growing here. Keep up the good work." He pats Aaron on the shoulder and leaves hastily, the buzz of chatter from the crowd flooding in when the door swings open. 

Aaron peels open the envelope to reveal a wad of notes, and a quick skim through them amounts to five hundred and fifty pounds. He blinks in disbelief, recounts, recounts again. Yep, five hundred and fifty pounds worth of crisp paper notes, just for one fight. Not bad indeed.

"Come on, I think you've earned yourself a drink after that performance," Adam smiles, and heaves open the door, releasing the noise from the crowd once more.

Aaron attracts multiple handshakes and slaps on the back (genuine ones, this time, not the pathetic, sarcastic ones Adam had earned after his fight), several well-dones and whoops, and the attention makes him beam, basking in his inflamed ego.  _Hell fucking yes, that **was** impressive. _ It's not until they've gotten outside into the alleyway when Aaron remembers that he isn't invincible just because he won a simple boxing match.

During the trek towards the exit, made slower by the crowd, Aaron looks round at the sea of faces, somewhat unaware that he's looking for Robert until he properly notices his absence. He hasn't been swallowed by the clusters of spectators or concealed behind some silhouettes. He's clearly scarpered for whatever reason. Maybe Oliver got jealous and yanked him from the eyeline of two athletic, shirtless guys - after the event in the pub a few days ago, it wouldn't surprise him, and it's just when Adam decides he now hates Oliver's existence when he suddenly wonders...  _why the fuck does he care?_

"So," begins Adam when they've finally gotten out of the alleyway and onto the streets. "Wanna go to the pub, or grab something at the takeaway, or head home or... it's up to the winner," he finishes with a chuckle, and Aaron finds himself wondering how the hell he's got such a great friend he doesn't deserve.

"Hmm... the chippy sure looks tempting," Aaron replies, his friend's infectious grin spreading onto his own face, and Adam can't agree more.

 

~

 

It's when they're strolling back from the takeaway, cones of steaming, vinegar-soaked chips in their hands and deep in conversation about yesterday's football match, when Aaron finally spots Robert on the other side of the street.

It's definitely him - Aaron recognises the clothes, the blue jumper and the leather jacket - but there's two major differences he spots almost immediately. One: he's not smiling or smirking. Two: his left eye is almost completely swollen shut, and his pale face is streaked with blood.

Adam's too busy devouring his dinner to notice Aaron's silence, and Aaron's too busy focusing on Robert to care about the football match they'd just been discussing. Everytime Aaron's even seen him, Robert's stood up straight, walked with a confident, careless swagger, but now here he is, shivering in the night breeze, hurriedly making his way down the street with his head ducked.

Aaron quickly decides that Robert probably brought the injury on himself - one snarky comment rubbed someone the wrong way just enough to earn himself the impressive bruise, and now he's snivelling as he goes home, defeated. That seems like the most plausible scenario, anyway.

Still, Aaron makes a mental note to ask him about it next time he sees him. He could do with a decent gossip now Betty's left.

 

~

 

That opportunity arrives much quicker than expected when Aaron gets called to Jai's office around one o'clock the next day and sees Robert in the corner.

Jai's perched at his desk as always, a box of papers and what looks like ticket stubs to his left and a cash box to his right, obviously trying to portray some kind of Godfather-esque image and not coming at all close. Robert isn't cowering away in the corner; he's stood like he was at the fight, hands in his pockets, looking as confident and normal as ever. The only evidence that the figure Aaron saw last night was Robert is the black eye. It's still there, swollen and discoloured and stubborn as ever, contrasting harshly against his skin.

"What happened to you?" Aaron asks, making it sound as casual as possible, and Robert just laughs, shrugging.

"Would anyone believe me if I said I caught it on a cupboard door?" he asks, and both Aaron and Jai shoot him looks of sheer disbelief.

"That's not a cupboard-door bruise, that's an 'I-got-socked-in-the-face' bruise," Jai voices exactly what Aaron's thinking, but Robert just shrugs it off again.

"It was a pretty violent cupboard. Damn thing swung out and I caught it at just the right time," he replies, tenderly jabbing at the engorged flesh, and his jaw visibly tenses as he fights the urge to wince or flinch. Aaron just rolls his eyes at the forced show of masculinity, but still gives it another glance, looking for any signs of possible further injury. The bloodshot veins in Robert's left eye don't look promising.

"I'll get Finn to look at it," Aaron says, and before Robert has chance to argue, he turns back to Jai. "So, why did you call me here?"

"You've got another match on Friday if you want it," Jai replies, leaning forward and scribbling something onto a notepad in blue ink. "Against someone actually at your skill level."

"Yeah, definitely," Aaron nods eagerly, and Jai grins. Aaron imagines him drooling at the wads of money he's probably going to achieve. 

"Great. Well, I'll tell you if any more info comes in. You can head back to training if you like. And you," he turns to Robert. "I'm guessing we're done here too?"

Robert just nods, and the two men shake hands, exchanging polite, businessmen smiles.

 

~

 

When Aaron gets out the office, holding the door open for Robert to follow him, he immediately yells for the medic. 

Finn shoots up like a loyal lap dog (if he had a tail, it would be wagging like crazy), the bag slung over his shoulder and swaying at his side, and he grimaces when he catches sight of Robert's injury.

"Goddamn, who did _you_ piss off?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"No one. Well, no more than usual," Robert replies, smiling like it's a joke, an everyday occurrence, and Aaron's eyebrows knit together briefly as he frowns for a second. He can't deduce why Robert's just shrugging off being beat up (unless it really is common). "Seriously, just leave it, it'll go down soon enough."

"Did you put ice on it?" Finn asks, and Aaron can see the switch in the medic's brain turn to professional.

"No," Robert simply says with a shrug, and Finn and Aaron exchange looks.

"Sit down, I'll find you an ice pack."

"No, seriously, it's not-"

"Sit. Down. I'm the medic for a reason and if that gets infected, it'll be nasty."

Now it's Robert's turn to roll his eyes, but he reluctantly sulks his way over to a nearby bench and sits down, fingers gently tracing over the purple marks. Aaron leans against the wall next to him, becoming hyperaware of the sweat patches around his collar and the slick sheen of moisture across his forehead and just how scruffy he looks compared to Robert in his suit and tie.

"Okay, now they're gone, how did you really get that?" Aaron asks, quietening his voice to try and get through to Robert, but he sees straight through it.

"Will you stop fucking going on about it?!" the blonde suddenly snaps, voice thick with unexpected anger, and Aaron straightens up, brow furrowed at the reaction which was most definitely uncalled for. _Well, sorry for caring, you prick_. "God, I'm sure if the fucking cupboard could apologise, it would."

"Okay, no need to bite my fucking head off," Aaron retaliates. "I'm just wondering how the hell you got a black eye worse than some of the ones I've gotten in matches."

"Like I said," Robert begins, and the exasperation in his voice makes it sound hoarse, along with the obvious plead for the subject to be dropped. "It was a violent cupboard."

Aaron nods, bathing in the knowledge that it was clearly no cupboard door that marred that face.

 

~

 

There's fuck all on TV when Wednesday afternoon drags around, so Aaron decides to throw on some decent clothes and head on down to KrossFit.

Ross is fighting tonight, a fair match, and Aaron manages to force his way to the front of the crowd so he gets a good view. It's not as full as when Aaron fought, but the crowd's still considerable, and the level of enthusiasm never alters, no matter who's fighting. Every man's still waving their cash wildly, whooping and yelling useless slurred instructions.

The opponent's smart, an agile fellow, but by the sixth round his stamina begins to drain and Ross takes full advantage of the situation, knocking seven bells out of him. Ross' fights always tend to be a lot more violent than other ones - it's often said in the gym that he'd do a lot better at bare-knuckle boxing.

And yet, Aaron finds himself looking round for Robert again. He doesn't understand why. Maybe it's because he's been curious for clarification about what really caused the injury - maybe he'll be able to worm it out of him after a drink or two. Besides, black eye or not, Robert's most definitely the type who can charm a free drink or two from the barmaid. With that face, he could probably charm the money straight from the till.

He spots him soon enough, near the front on the other side of the ring, and whilst his eye is still swollen, it's nowhere near as angry and inflamed as it had been a few hours previous. Obviously the bag of crushed ice Finn had pressed against his face had worked its magic.

Robert's watching Ross with limited interest, nowhere near the same level as he had during Aaron's fight (Aaron feels slightly smug about that), when a figure suddenly slips in beside him, boasting a mop of brown curls and a shit-eating grin. His appearance makes Robert jump slightly, but the look of shock is quickly replaced by a tender smile.

Great. Oliver's here.

He doesn't know what causes it, but something about Oliver irritates Aaron. He's got one of those faces that Aaron would happily use as a punchbag.

Aaron spends most of the rest of the match watching the couple, feeling slightly sick. They aren't acting intimate whatsoever - probably a smart move in a room full of macho, gut-bellied men - but they look so annoyingly _perfect_ together. Two smug Cheshire Cats who fit perfectly together like jigsaw pieces. Bleugh.

Robert's hand wanders to his eye, again tenderly tapping it to see if any pain shoots through, and it clearly does when he winces and squeezes his eyes shut. Oliver sees, and brings his hand up to examine it, to check if its all okay, but Robert dodges him, shoots back like Oliver's hand is some venomous snake. An instinctive action, something he did without thinking about, as if he was _scared_ or something.

And that's when Aaron spots Oliver's hand, sees the red, bruised knuckles, and two and two come together in his head and churn out four.

Aaron wants to pull Oliver into the ring and beat him until he can't see straight.


	6. Neck Deep in Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you haven't already guessed, this fanfiction is definitely going to be angsty :P I'll try and give it a happy ending, I promise, but it'll be a fun rollercoaster until then :D
> 
> Thanks for all the support so far - it's been incredible!

Robert leaves before Aaron has the chance to question him, before the fight has even ended.

Ross wins, of course - his opponent lies limp on the mat like a doll, blood gushing from his nose and smeared across Ross' gloves - and although the crowd aren't surprised, they're just as enthusiastic as always as they celebrate the win with beer and banknotes. Aaron watches as Jai approaches Ross in the changing rooms, handing him his paycheck before disappearing back into the crowd, and Aaron can see that Ross isn't far from throwing the notes up and dancing in them like something a lottery winner would do. Still, since pretty much everyone had bet on Ross, his wages aren't that far from a lottery haul, even after Jai's taken his share.

"Do you wanna get a drink?" Aaron asks, shrugging his jacket on and hoping he doesn't have to spend the rest of the night in front of the telly watching reruns, to which Ross nods, sarcastically fanning himself with his winnings and cackling when Aaron shoves him playfully, out into the busy alleyway where people are chain smoking.

Like always, the local pub's swarming with spectators of the fight, so the pair earn themselves some nods and cheers as they buy their drinks and lean against the bar, a bowl of salted peanuts between them. The hours drag by - as tough as Ross is, Aaron finds him ridiculously fun to talk to - and it's not until after they've exhausted the topics of football and KrossFit and music and the news when the topic of Robert is brought up.

"Did you see the shiner on Sugden's face?" Ross comments casually with a mouthful of peanuts, and Aaron's ears perk up slightly at the mention. "Judging by the state of his boyfriend, I reckon there's been some kind of lover's tiff."

"Must have been a good punch," Aaron says, wondering if maybe Ross knows more than he does about the situation. "I've had less injuries from boxing matches."

"Nah, he probably brought it on himself - got the smirk wiped off his face for once." There's a callousness to Ross' voice which confuses Aaron slightly - he's not  _that_ bad - and then he finds himself wondering if maybe there's a bit of backstory to Ross and Robert. 

And before he can stop himself, he says, "Still, being knocked around by his boyfriend is a bit out of line. I mean, what would you do if Finn's boyfriend beat him up?" Ross practically splutters into his pint.

"What makes you think that about Finn?" he half-asks, half-demands, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and Aaron backs up slightly, not expecting such a reaction. He knows it's just a brother being protective, but it's still alarming.

"He's not exactly subtle, Ross," is what he finally decides on, and Ross' eyes narrow.

"Takes one to know one, eh?" he remarks, giving Aaron a playful shove on the shoulder, and Aaron just laughs a 'fuck you', but there's still part of him that wonders if Ross knows about him. He's sure Finn knows by now, but whether he's spilled the details to his big brother, he's unsure for now.

 

~

 

The next few days at the gym repeat themselves; training, a couple of pints at the pub nearby, go home -that's the routine. His next match is drawing ever closer, and Aaron's relieved that it's fair, but he knows that it's only a matter of time before he's fixed to lose just to bring a surprise to the crowd. Still, might as well enjoy it while he can.

 

~

 

"Aaron? Hey, it's Robert."

Aaron sits up slowly from the sofa, frowning in confusion at the voice coming down the phone. "Erm... how did you get my number?"

"Jai gave it me," Robert replies casually, like it's something Jai does all the time. "Is that a problem?" He sounds confident again, which makes Aaron feel slightly relieved.

"Does he regularly give out his clients' phone numbers to anyone who asks?"

"I don't know, I asked nicely." Aaron's unsure as to what that implies, but decides to roll with it.

"Great. So, why are you calling me?"

Aaron can practically hear Robert's confidence levels wane the second he begins talking. "Well, Oliver's out, and there's absolutely nothing on telly until the match starts later, so I was wondering if you'd up for a pint at the pub? If we get there early, we can watch the match there."

"Er... sure, why not?" Aaron answers after a swift flick through the telly channels to ensure that there's indeed nothing worth watching. The football match everyone's anticipating doesn't start for at least another hour, and Robert's right - it's better to get there before the queues start coming out the building and worming round the corner and into the car park. There's a breathy sigh from the other end of the phone, a sigh of relief it sounds like, before Robert begins talking again, immediately sounding chirpier than before.

"Cool. So, erm, The White Lion?"

The boxers of KrossFit are regulars at the local, know all the staff by name and have established their regular orders. Ross knows the barmaids by a lot more than their names. Aaron's not complaining - it gets them all free drinks every now and then.

"Yeah, sure," Aaron replies, and Robert hangs up, leaving him with the harsh dialling tone. Aaron sits in rather bemused silence for a few minutes before grabbing his jacket and heading out into the street.

 

~

 

The pub isn't too busy when he arrives, but obviously several people had the same idea to get there early before the real hardcore supporters filter in.

He walks in, flashes the barmaid a smile and looks around for Robert, who he eventually spots tucked up in a booth, accompanied by a half-drained pint and a packet of crisps. 

"Hey," he says, approaching him, but when Robert looks up and smiles, Aaron stops dead.

Not only has the swelling around Robert's bloodshot eye doubled in size and become an angry, violent shade of crimson, there's a two-inch gash tracing down Robert's right cheekbone, vibrant red and fresh. He looks like the result of an alleyway scrap, a complete _mess_ , but he's smiling like it's no big deal.

"Damn, guess Oliver _has_ got a hard punch, eh?" Not the best choice of opening line, but it certainly gets his point across. Robert's smile immediately drops and his face creases into a frown.

"What?" he says as Aaron sits opposite him.

"Oh come on, Robert, do you think anyone buys that cupboard door story?" he almost scoffs, leaning back in his chair. "What, did it come back for round two?" he adds, gesturing towards the cut on the blonde's face. "Or is Oliver knocking you around?"

"I don't remember when that became any of your business whatsoever," Robert hisses through gritted teeth, and there's an edge to his voice that serves as a warning that Aaron's pushing it now. Aaron frowns -  _I'm trying to help you here, you prick._

"Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out why you look increasingly more shit every time I see you," he replies, and Robert shoots him an annoyed look.

"When I invite someone out for a drink, I don't expect to be insulted," he says with an eye roll, which causes Aaron to mirror his glare.

"It's insulting that you expect me to buy these excuses," he fires back, and that's what makes Robert drop his head down to his pint, take a few sips, and let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he might as well tell the truth or he'll never be able to escape the topic.

"Oliver gets angry sometimes. I do as well," he says in a voice which makes him sound a lot smaller than he is. "Big deal."

"So do I, but I don't go round thumping people because of it," Aaron says, and to his surprise, Robert actually _laughs_. Well, more of a chuckle, but a smile definitely shows, even if it is small.

"You're a boxer. You hit people for a living."

"Shut up," is all Aaron can think of to say, throwing a crisp at Robert who juts his head out and catches it effortlessly between his teeth, like some kind of choreographed scene from a film, and it brings a smile to Aaron's face. It's just then when a rather large cluster of people bust in, all obviously waiting for the football match to kick off on the wall-mounted plasma screen. It'll only be a matter of time before the police show up like they always do, parked round the corner awaiting for the hooligans to start picking fights.

"Who are you supporting?" Robert asks as the TV turns on, blasting light and sound across the pub and drawing a loud buzz of chatter from the awaiting spectators.

"Liverpool, of course," Aaron replies, and Robert scoffs, though there's no malice behind it.

"Honestly, some people have no taste," he smiles, and Aaron throws another crisp at it, which Robert thankfully misses.

"If you're going to insult my football team, we are not going to get on," he says, and Robert's signature smirk returns to his face for the first time in what feels like a while (it's weirdly infectious too - it coaxes a grin from Aaron) before the noise in the pub shoots up as the whistle blows and the football match of the month kicks off. Robert's eyes become glued to the screen, only looking back to pass the packet of crisps back to Aaron or to drain the last of his drink, and Aaron's very much the same. 

Aaron looks back at Robert every now and again, mostly to examine the injuries closer, trying to figure out what could have caused them. The black eye, which clearly hasn't felt an ice pack since Finn interfered, is clearly the product of a hard punch, but the cut? Unless Oliver was wearing a ring, it'd have to be something being thrown at him. Something sharp. Either that, or a flying piece of smashed glass or pottery, bouncing after being tossed at the floor or a wall. It's sad to imagine - yeah, the smirk's annoying, but not annoying enough to actually want to punch from his face. It feels like it sometimes, but Aaron can't imagine actually doing it. He's an attractive fellow, beneath all the bruises and blood - Aaron remembers back when they first met, when the first thing he found himself looking at was Robert's cut-from-stone jawline. And yet, it's weird seeing someone who's normally confident and smiling look so nervous, so  _small_. It doesn't suit him. Aaron hates Oliver more than he could ever imagine now.

He's staring at Robert's inflamed eye when Rob catches his look and Aaron drops his gaze nervously, just in time to miss Robert smirking once again. It's a default setting, obviously. "Have you put any ice on that? It looks worse than before."

"Yes." Lie.

"Okay." Another lie.

They watch in comfortable silence for the rest of the match, cheering everytime a goal's scored and complaining everytime someone dives, and when Liverpool are 3-2 up and the eighty-fifth minute is ticking by and Aaron's leant forward in his seat in anticipation, he misses Robert's side glances at him, and the small smile gracing his lips everytime he looks.


	7. Jack Daniels and Honey

Robert and Aaron part ways after Liverpool inevitably win the match, but not before Aaron spends a good hour teasing Robert about how superior his football team is. They laugh about it over several rounds of drinks, becoming more and more relaxed as the alcohol makes its way through their systems and they talk about everything from the gym to movies (turns out Robert's an action fan as well) to their shared skill of mechanical work. It turns out they've got more in common than Aaron ever could have guessed.

They say goodbye when the clock ticks past midnight (a scrap between a couple of drunks has broken out, as predicted) and Aaron heads back home, smoking a cigarette, still in slight awe about how easy that night really was.

 

~

 

"I put a tenner on Liverpool losing as well," Adam says between grunts and loud exhales as he sends swift punches flying at the pads on Aaron's hand. Aaron locks his legs, keeping steady against Adam's strong jabs. "I'm not a psychic."

"I can tell," Aaron replies, voice straining when Adam smacks his left hand. "You really thought Heath was going to win that match with a pulled calf? He got the shit kicked out of him."

"Hey, I've seen that guy bounce back from worse than that," Adam argues, ducking a swipe from Aaron. "He once was on a crutch, and he threw it away and went in the ring and actually  _won_. It was some Karate Kid shit... minus the kick to the face."

Aaron wishes he'd have joined this gym earlier - some of the anecdotes the guys discuss sound too good to be true.

 

~

 

It's not until the night before Aaron's fight when Aaron sees Robert again, and damn, he looks a lot better. The black eye has obviously been seen too, the shades of purple and red less prominent and the swelling's receded, allowing him to fully open his eye for the firs time all week. The cut down his cheek's begun to scab over, darkening from crimson to dark brown, and although Aaron still thinks it probably could do with stitching up, it looks like it'll escape infection by itself.

He's sat on the bench, taking gulps from a water bottle and fanning himself with a newspaper to try and relieve himself from the insane humidity, when Robert and Jai emerge from the boss' office, both again somehow not sweating a single drop. The gym's busy today - everyone's training, and the air's full of the sound of gloved fists colliding with swinging punchbags and idle chatter and, of course, Cain yelling every single swear in the book at Ross (who looks like he's on the verge of collapsing). It's pushing evening, so the swelling sounds of cars driving past bleed into the building, and it's just noise everywhere Aaron turns.

He doesn't even notice Robert's arrival until the man sits next to him on the bench, his two top shirt buttons undone and, now Aaron's closer, he can see the beads of perspiration along his forehead. But it's the lack of injuries that grabs Aaron's attention first.

"Wow," he smiles, peering at the shadow of a black eye. "That's healed up nicely."

"Turns out ice does work," Robert nods, before undoing his jacket and shrugging it off. "Fuck, can you guys not even leave a door open or something? It's fucking boiling in here."

Aaron scoffs slightly, diverts his eyes down to his lap to avoid staring. "You're in a room with boarded up windows and no air conditioning. It's practically a slow cooker."

"No shit." Robert lies his jacket down beside him on the bench and his eyes begin wandering, and Aaron can tell he's checking the other boxers out. He can't blame him - he's more than guilty of it himself.

"Hey, I was wondering, d'you wanna go for a drink tonight?" He doesn't know where the confidence comes from, but Aaron asks him. It wasn't until last night, whilst he was watching cricket highlights with Paddy chattering relentlessly by his side (Adam was busy with his girlfriend, and he didn't really want to call Ross or Finn) when he realised how fun the drink with Robert actually was. 

"Erm... yeah, sure," Rob replies, to Aaron's relief - the hesitation had sent his heart thumping in borderline embarrassment. "White Lion again?"

"Okay," Aaron nods, and he can feel a smile inching onto his lips. "It's a good idea to go there. I can get free drinks from Carly, the barmaid. I think she fancies me." Not think; she _definitely_ fancies Aaron. She fancies everyone at the gym. She batters her eyelids and pouts her lips and is more than willing to sneak them a free beverage under the landlord's nose. "I should be done in a few hours... meet you there at eight?"

"Sounds good," Robert smiles, a mix of genuine grin and usual smirk, before Heath is coming up to them, sweat-covered and panting. His long locks of blonde curls are pulled back tightly and he's so drenched in moisture, his t-shirt is pretty much see-through.

"Dude, seriously, it's your turn with sparring. Save me before Jeremy kills me." Jeremy's easily the tallest, most muscular boxer in the building, but his stature surpasses intimidating to pure freakish. He looks like the type of person who could punch someone on the shoulder and accidentally send them flying back through the drywall. Aaron hasn't witnessed any of his matches, but apparently they're more brutal than Ross', and Aaron can only stomach so much blood in one night. 

Aaron gets up, tugs on his gloves and Heath ties them, and Jeremy hasn't even broken a sweat yet despite the fact he's not stopped moving for the past two hours.

"Go easy, big guy," Aaron says as he approaches him, getting in stance, and Jeremy just laughs in his face.

Aaron's more than aware of Robert's eyes on him as he spars, and when he manages to throw a punch which sends Jeremy staggering backwards, he can feel his ego inflating by the second. The heat's increasing, the sweat dripping into his eyes, and he would be lying if he said that he wasn't considering taking his shirt off, for two reasons. He decides against it, though - that's probably over the top.

 

~

 

After a long, much-needed shower and a change into a decent pair of clothes, Aaron goes down to The White Lion, which is thankfully quiet since it's Thursday and most people are at work. There's a lovey-dovey couple at the bar, a group of guys tossing spears at the dartboard and of course, Carly's on shift.

"Hello there, Aaron," Carly chirps the minute he walks in, and if there's one thing Carly's good at, it's shamelessly flirting. Unfortunately, Aaron doesn't possess that skill, so he just smiles 'hello' before going to join Robert in the same corner booth they were in the other day.

"Hi," Robert spots him and grins, eyes lighting up immediately, and it's infectious as Aaron slides into the seat opposite. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Just a pint, ta," he replies, and Robert goes up to the bar, attracting both Carly and Aaron's attention, and Aaron's rather smug over the fact that hey, Robert's got more chance of getting with him than he ever has of going with Carly.

 

~

 

The next two hours whizz by - the evening picks up pretty much exactly where the last one left off. Carly _does_ supply the pair with enough free drinks to get her fired, but the landlord is pretty preoccupied with a game of snooker so she gets away with it tonight. It's not until half an hour as passed when Robert goes up for another round when Carly leans in close and whispers, "What happened to Oliver?"

"Nothing's happened," he replies, confused. "Why?"

"Oh," she says, visibly surprised, before looking down at her fingernails. "Sorry."

"No, go on," Robert continues, leaning on the bar.

"I just thought that you two were on a date or something," Carly says in a quiet voice, flashing her eyes back to Aaron who's paying attention to the news playing on the TV, reading the subtitles that trail about a minute behind the actual speech. "You look close, that's all."

"No, we're just mates." Robert grabs the drinks and makes his way back over to the table, Carly's words replaying in his mind. They look like a couple? _Fuck_. What if Oliver had walked in? He doesn't need to imagine the argument that would ensure - he's lived it before. The cuts on his face prove that.

Still, he's not here to think about Oliver. He's here with a funny, good-looking bloke who he enjoys spending time with, and his name is Aaron Livesy.

 

~

 

The alcohol causes both of the boys to forget that the pub chucks out early on a Thursday, so they find themselves on the freezing cold streets with nothing to do, loose with drunkenness and giggling like schoolgirls for no actual reason they can think of.

"Come on, my apartment's just a street down," Robert manages to say between uncontrollable laughs, heading down the pavement, and Aaron follows behind him, lighting up a cigarette.

Robert's apartment is spacious, like the gym, but it makes good use of the large squares of wooden flooring. Everything's slightly blurry, but Aaron drinks in the interior when he gets through the door; there's a gentle smell of air freshener lingering around, and there's a long, cushioned sofa opposite a plasma screen. Two wide bookshelves slot between the floor and ceiling, covering an entire wall and stocked full with books, DVDs and LPs, mostly neatly-arranged but with some shabbily placed here and there. There isn't much character to the place, but it's nice and homely and far from cramped.

"I think Die Hard's on tonight," Robert announces, words of beginning to slur, and he half-sits, half-falls onto the sofa and grabs the remote. "Please say you like Die Hard."

"Who the hell _doesn't_ like Die Hard?" Aaron laughs, joining him on the  _very_ cushion-y sofa, and Robert leans back, one arm drooping down by his side and one hard lazily falling across the back of the sofa, behind Aaron's shoulders. He's too drunk to say anything about it (he's not sure if he'd say anything about it sober). 

"D'you want a drink?" Robert asks, and Aaron can see the impressive-looking alcohol cabinet.

"Tut tut," he smiles, his grin lazy with alcohol. "What will Oliver think when he comes back and sees that half empty?"

"Fuck what Oliver thinks," says Robert, and Aaron can barely believe he actually heard that come from Robert's mouth. "I'm having fun."

 

~

 

In his years of experience, Aaron has concluded that there are five types of drunk people:

 **The Silly Drunk**  
The Emotional Drunk  
**The Angry Drunk**  
The Tired Drunk  
**The Sexual Drunk**

 

He's a bit of a mix between emotional drunk, tired drunk and sexual drunk. It depends just how intoxicated he really is. Enough alcohol will send him into a coma, but if he's still awake and functioning, he'll start either pouring out his feelings or hit on the nearest guy he can find.

Robert, however, is straight up emotional drunk. 100%. Well, 95%. There's a hint of sexual on the side.

It's when they're sharing a strangely-delicious bottle of Jack Daniels with honey that they abandon the movie and the conversation delves from idle chit-chat about how shit the Die Hard franchise has become to things more personal.

Aaron catches another glimpse of the cut on Robert's cheek and the question slips out before his teeth can hold them back. "Why do you stay with Oliver when he does that to you?"

Robert pauses, obviously caught off guard, but any defenses set up are blown apart by the 'emotional drunk' side kicking into action. He slumps down into the sofa, and his arm falls onto Aaron's shoulders, but he doesn't flinch.

"When he's not throwing things, he's a really nice guy," he replies, and his voice has lost all confidence and volume, reduced to a feeble, slurred whine. "He's a good laugh and he's gorgeous and he's a pretty good lay as well. That matters more than him getting angry sometimes."

"Robert, he gets jealous, doesn't he? I've seen him drag you away from talking to people," Aaron sits up, concern in his voice, and Robert's arm falls down to his lower back. 

"Not a lot," the blonde replies with his head ducked, fidgeting slightly, and if normal, everyday Robert is a charmer who knows how to work with words, drunken, vulnerable Robert is the worst liar in the world.

"Come on, Rob, you deserve better than him," Aaron says, genuine, and Robert looks up at him, eyes glistening with what looks like forming tears. Aaron blinks to make sure he's not seeing things - he doesn't think he's ever seen Robert that  _sad_ before, never mind on the brink of crying. "I mean, anyone who does shit like that to their partner is a prick anyway. People who do shit like that _don't_ care about their partner whatsoever, anger problems or not."

He looks so vulnerable, so sad, so fucking lonely and it makes Aaron's heart ache.

"You're too fucking nice to me, you know that?" Robert eventually says, throat thick with drink and choked-down emotion, and Aaron grins, glassy-eyed.

"I don't often get told that," he replies, and leans back into Robert, head nestled on the older man's shoulder. He feels Robert tense, so he looks up, hoping he hasn't freaked him out.

And that's when he feels Robert's lips on his own.

Aaron's heart almost explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Robron begins! :D
> 
> Credit to the wonderful danisnotonfire for the Five Types of Drunk People :P


	8. Ding Ding! Round Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the update break - school's started again, so I can't write several chapters in one go like I could before. Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, love you all xx

Aaron's making his way down the street, swaying and staggering with intoxication, bitten and relentlessly chilled by the midnight air. His nerve endings are on fire and he feels  _everything_ , the wind on his cheeks, his clothes against his skin, Robert's lips on the crook of his neck. He can feel the fingertips on his arms, and he knows there's a purple hickey or two blossoming on his skin and  _god_ everything's crazy.

_"Oh, fuck... you've gotta go, Aaron, Oliver will be back any minute."_

_"I don't care."_

_"Well, I d- oh, **fuck**."_

They didn't get far. Not as far as Sexual Drunk Aaron would have liked anyway. Robert's shirt was slung across the back of the sofa, revealing pale skin dotted with a few yellowing bruises and a sprinkling of freckles. It was when Aaron was trailing kisses down Robert's chest when he found himself being shoved off by the man who was absolutely adamant that his boyfriend would be returning soon.

Now, here he is, the streetlamps and headlights all coming together in one big orange blur, and the fight he has tomorrow barely registers in his mind, behind his lips bitten red by clumsy, drunken kisses.

He finally finds his crappy little apartment a few minutes later and he drops his key twice whilst trying to unlock the door. It's dark, lit by streetlamps filtering in through the curtains, and he collapses on the sofa and curls up and falls asleep in a heartbeat.

 

~

 

He wakes up at twelve p.m., wrenches upright and immediately the room begins spinning.

He's never been one for hangovers, but enough experience with them has left him with the knowledge of how to sober up as quickly as possible. Water - both drunk and showered in. After downing three pints of water, Aaron peels off last night's clothes and stands in the shower for a good half-hour, until the ringing in his ears stops.

The events of the previous nights are more than a mixed bag in his mind; some are blurry, there are gaps where entire chunks of dialogue have been entirely forgotten, and some of the details are sticking out and replaying in his head. A quick glance over in the mirror reveals two vibrant hickeys near his collarbone, and Aaron knows exactly who left them there.

Then the realisation that _shit._ There's a fight tonight, and he's the fucking star.

Two more pints of water and another quick dowse of freezing cold water. He needs to sober up, and fast.

 

~

 

When he finally shows up at the gym, slightly disorientated but dried out enough to stay stable, it's not two seconds before Adam is next to him and two cold fingers have hooked round the collar of his t-shirt and are yanking it down.

"Looks like someone pulled last night," Adam announces with a grin as the hickeys are uncovered, vibrant against his skin, and Aaron pushes him away, still slightly bitter over Robert's rejection. "Come on, who's the lucky fella?"

"Shut up, you moron," Aaron hisses, shoving him again. Adam's been the only one at the gym who Aaron's decided to come out to, who he trusts enough not to spread it. Looks like he won't have the chance to spread it, anyway - the whole gym probably heard that now. "Who says they're not just bruises?"

"Oh, yeah, and I'm fucking Mila Kunis," laughs Adam, and Aaron knows he's defeated, but there's still no way he's spilling who left the marks. He's still not sure what it _was_. Just a drunken outpour of feelings. Robert's probably so sexually frustrated from Oliver's short leash and constant disappearances, it wouldn't surprise Aaron if he was the third guy that week.

"It's just some guy I went for a drink with," he decides on, and there's no way Adam's happy with that little information. "No one special."

"Uh huh," Adam nods, and a devious smile spreads across his face. "I'll just ask Carly - she'll know who it is."

Aaron's heart begins thudding in his chest, but he just shoots his friend a sarcastic smile before shoving on his gloves and allowing Adam to lace them up. It was nothing. A quick hook-up that didn't even become a hook-up. A drunken, messy, silly, unimportant, soon-to-be-forgotten kiss. Aaron's struggling to forget it, though. His stomach flips every time he thinks of it. His heart flutters and his skin burns and he _doesn't know why_.

"Are you actually sober enough to fight tonight?" Adam asks as the pair make their way over to the punchbag.

"Yeah, course I am," Aaron scoffs. He isn't. Still, a few more drinks of water and maybe another quick cold shower and he'll be alert and buzzing as ever. His fists begin pummeling the bag, and Adam's bouncing lazily against the ropes of the boxing ring, peeling off his hoodie and tossing it aside. 

"Uh huh, sure. Anyway, the guy you're fighting is apparently a southpaw too, so it should be easier."

He's not sure he's ready for this fight, but it's coming anyway. No backing out now.

 

~

 

"Mother _fucker_ ," Aaron hisses as blood swims down his face, made runnier by the sweat, before Finn hastily wipes it off. He swallows gulps of air, Ross squirts water into his mouth which he spits back out into a bucket. His muscles are aching and his heart's thudding but it's the eight round and it should be over soon. A few more punches and his opponent will be on the ground.

The gym is just as full as his first fight, maybe even more so, and twice as loud. Aaron's beginning to recognise some of the faces, and wonders if their wives and girlfriends know that they're all clambouring to watch illegal fights and bet their money on who sheds the least blood.

Jai's watching from the back, partly concealed by shadows and occasionally exchanging words with men in suits, all observing with impressed expressions. Robert's a no-show. Not hidden by the crowd, not hanging out near Jai. Neither Robert or Oliver are present, and that relieves, worries and pisses off Aaron.

He wins by a complete and utter fluke, but it's an impressive looking fluke, so Aaron isn't going to complain. Turns out that the weak point on his opponent which Aaron's been looking for for most of the match is near his ribcage, and one good punch sends him down on the ground, heaving and shuddering, and Aaron is declared the winner.

Jai delivers him is wages (now bumped up to seven hundred and fifty quid) and Adam pats him on the back and waits as Aaron gets changed. He gets congratulated by the spectators, most of whom are celebrating winning bets, and still, no Robert.

His mind starts to wander as Aaron and Adam begin their routine visit to the pub. He's obviously being avoided - this is the first match which Aaron hasn't seen Robert at, so unless Oliver's dragged him aside for a date night or a word about why Robert's shirt was buttoned up roughly when he got back, he can't think of any other reason why a regular would skip a match. No, it's obvious. Robert's clearly at home, wallowing in guilt or snuggling up to his boyfriend and acting like he's completely innocent and head over heels. After last night's events, nothing now can convince Aaron that Robert's happy with Oliver. There's only two types of people in the world who are completely honest - five year old children and drunk people.

He drinks with Adam and gets flirted with by Carly (who is still obviously clinging to the hope that Aaron is straight) and returns home at half twelve in the morning with no calls, texts or voicemails from Robert.

 

~

 

Aaron tags along to Jeremy's match the next night, just to see if he really is being avoided. The people in the crowd are obviously the blood-thirsty of the town's population, as graphic injuries and broken teeth are practically guaranteed at Jeremy's matches, and once Aaron spots the opponent, he realises that this is going to be a complete and utter bloodbath. Both the fighters are enormous, muscles writhing under their skin and eyes wild with anger, and all there is to stop them from tearing chunks from each other is the terrified referee who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Heath's near the ring, cheering his friend on, and Aaron's near the back, pushing his way through and looking for a mop of blonde hair on a six-foot-tall suit-clad figure. And then he spots him on the other side of the ring, hands in his pockets, watching and twitching as more blood stains the ring.

There's no fresh injuries on his face, which is quite a relief. He looks as normal and as handsome as always, and all that does is confirm that yes, he _is_ being avoided. Whoop-de-do. He's about to head back and wait when Robert looks down, spots him, and his face immediately turns stone.

"Robert, wait," Aaron says more to himself than Robert, who immediately turns back and starts making his way through the cluster of bodies, and in the time it takes Aaron to get to the other side of the ring, Robert's disappeared through the door and down the street and out of view.

Aaron curses under his breath. He's not pissed that there isn't going to be a repeat of last night - he's fine with that, really. It was fun during the two minutes it lasted. He's pissed that he's lost a friend he genuinely enjoys spending time with because of one drunken mistake. 

He heads back inside just as Jeremy knocks the front two teeth straight from his opponent's battered face.


	9. The Storeroom

Aaron feels more than queasy when Jeremy's opponent is left convulsing in a pool of his own blood as the bell rings, so he scarpers out into the fresh air and tries to settle the nausea in his stomach. It's not just him who's squeamish - even the beefcakes in the crowd were wincing as Jeremy's face grew more and more streaked with blood from wounds the medic clearly couldn't stop. Several people left early, and when Jeremy limps out of the ring with his face beaten beyond recognition, Jai gives him a quick fleeting look before ordering, "Get him to a hospital." Aaron later sees him get into a car with Heath and drive off down the road.

There isn't much to do with himself at half ten at night. He doesn't feel like going to the pub - he's got absolutely zero appetite after the performance he's just watched - and Adam's probably tucked up with Victoria, Ross is at home. Finn's left (looking very pale) and Robert's denying his existence. So, after a cigarette, he makes his way home, shivering and twitching as the night air bites through his hoodie.

 

~

 

"Jeremy's staying in hospital for the day. He needs stiches."

Finn's tending to the knotted muscles in Adam's shoulder, rubbing deep heat cream into the boxer's flesh and clearly enjoying every second of it. Aaron has to bite his lip to stop himself smirking as Finn's eyes light up every time Adam groans or hisses in satisfaction, and he watches as he fills in his friend on the events of last night's bloodbath.

"His face was that bad?" Adam half-grins, half-grimaces as Finn hits a particularly painful spot.

"He didn't have much of a face left," Aaron replies as he tapes up his hands, having finally mastered to art of doing it better than Finn. His words bounce off of the lockers, amplifying the conversation dramatically. "Still, not as bad as the other guy. He really didn't end up pretty."

"He looked like he was having some kind of fit," Finn pipes up. "He broke a cheekbone or two, and he's going to need false teeth. I've not seen much worse."

"Aw, you should have videoed it!" Adam whines, hissing as he feels the cream work his way into his muscles, and Aaron swears Finn's trembling. "I've got to fight tonight, as well."

"Fair?" asks Aaron. Adam nods.

"Mmhmm. Got to gain some dignity back after the last performance," he groans.

"It's not like that was your fault," Finn replies as he caps the tube of cream and stands up, wiping his hands on a ragged towel. Adam stands as well, rolling his shoulder and sighing at the relief of pain, and he can feel both Finn and Aaron's eyes on his chiselled figure - he just grins knowingly at Aaron, who immediately drops his eyes, earning a chuckle from his friend. Aaron sometimes wonders what it would be like if Adam was gay instead of Finn - maybe he'd have gotten laid by now. It'd be a relief. It's been at least three months since some hot guy he met in a nightclub, and that was just borderline satisfying.

"I'll stay for the match," Aaron says. He does it all the time anyway - they've never missed a single one of each other's fights - but he wants to make sure Adam knows. His friend smiles gratefully, and that's when the door swings open and Jai pokes his head into the room, not blinking an eye at the image of shirtless, greasy Adam and two guys either side of him.

"Aaron, a word, please?" he asks, and the tone of voice makes it obvious that it's serious, whatever it is. The three exchange unsure looks, and Aaron makes his way out into the main gym, where Cain's yelling every swear under the sun at an exhausted David. He follows Jai into his office, and waits patiently at the desk as the boss gets comfortable and shifts a stack of paperwork to the side.

"You've got a fight in three days," Jai announces, and Aaron's face lights up, along with a mental reminder to not get drunk the night before immediately being written in his head. "But you're hitting the mat."

Aaron's face falls.

"What the fuck?" he frowns, confused. "I've only fought twice and you're already fixing my matches?"

"Sorry, mate, but it's your turn in the books," Jai replies, and there's a shred of sympathy in his voice, but none in his eyes. All Aaron can see is the pound signs.

"Don't 'mate' me. I'm not throwing the fucking fight!" he spits, confusion turning into anger. Jai remains calm, experienced with such an outburst having sat through this reaction hundreds of times before.

"Then you're not getting paid," the man says, monotonous. "Look, you're fighting, like it or not. You either fall and earn your wages, or sabotage it and get both yourself and me into a whole lot of unnecessary bother. Up to you." He shrugs nonchalantly, which further infuriates Aaron.

"What happens if I do? Are people in balaclavas going to come round with baseball bats?" Aaron rolls his eyes, still seething.

"No, but you'll get me in a whole lot of debt," Jai replies. "And I'm not paying it if I'm not the one who caused it."

As much as Aaron's tempted to retaliate and knock his opponent into next week, he's seen the quantities of notes Jai deals with, and he doesn't particularly fancy owing that to any businessman surrounded by beefy bodyguards with any sort of weapons. Instead, he takes a breath, composes himself, nods and storms out.

"Looks like _I'm_ the one who's throwing the next match," he scowls when he approaches Adam, who's jabbing at the punchbag, taking it easy on his aching shoulder.

"Aw, shit," Adam frowns, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "Look, just protect your face and when it's time to drop, just take one punch and stay down. Don't let the shit get beaten out of you just for the match, it's not worth it." Aaron's practically positive Adam can read his mind when the next sentence pops out his mouth. "And don't try and win just because you're pissed at Jai. Last guy who did that - this fellow called Larry - woke up in hospital a week later with two dislocated shoulders and cracked ribs. Dude never boxed again. And you know the real kicker? It wasn't even the opponent's businessmen that ordered it. Apparently, Jai got his bodyguards to kick seven shades out of Larry to teach him a lesson. Be careful, yeah? Jai's got links to some shady motherfuckers. It's not worth getting tangled up in."

 

~

 

People begin to clamber in a good hour and a half before the match is due to start, all clearly eager to see if Adam can win this one, which Aaron knows he will. The trail of muddy footprints on the floor and the water dripping from people's hair and the exclamations of 'Bloody weather, eh?' give away the less than pleasant weather conditions outside - along with the incessant drumming of the rain on the roof of the gym, a lot louder in the changing room than the main room.

"Come on, mate, we can't spend all day in here," Aaron says to the nervous, pacing boxer in front of him who's chewing on his nails. "There's ages 'till the match starts." There's no way Aaron's spending over ninety minutes cooped up in a changing room, even with his friend. Plus he wants to see if Robert's making an appearance.

A glass smashes in the main room. The crowd cheers.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess," Adam nods, nervousness present in his ever-so-slightly-shaking voice, and Aaron's somewhat relieved as they make their way into the crowd. Adam recognises some people and immediately starts mixing and conversing, slotting into every social situation with ease (Aaron's always been jealous of people who can do that) and pretty quickly disappearing amongst the sea of babbling heads, leaving Aaron to just hang out awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. That's when a familiar jawline and crop of blonde hair walks nearby, and Aaron's attention is immediately grabbed.

He's not sure he's ever seen Robert out of a suit or leather jacket, so today's a first. The man's absolutely soaked, hair and clothes drenched with rainwater, and the casual combination of slightly tight black t-shirt and faded jeans suits him unexpectedly well. He looks good, irritatingly good, and Aaron feels his dick twitch in his trousers as the memories of the kiss come flooding back. The hickey on his own neck still hasn't gone entirely - it's less bold, but the pink shadow is still there, serving as a reminder every time he looks in the mirror. 

Aaron watches him, feeling slightly like a stalker but not caring, wondering if Robert even knows he's here. Oliver isn't clung to him like glue, so he guesses that Robert's probably finished sucking up to his boyfriend and is now allowed some free time.

Robert looks up from his glass of cheap beer and meets Aaron's eye. The gaze holds for three seconds, Aaron's heart thudding almost painfully in his ears, before Robert turns back and disappears back into the crowd. Great. Just great.

 

~

 

Aaron spends the next seventy-two minutes wandering around aimlessly, sipping at watery pints and holding swift conversations with random regulars, before Adam finally emerges from the changing room in kit and gloves and takes to the ring, fired up and wanting to win. The opponent is slightly taller, but nowhere near as muscular, and by the lack of injuries on his body, he's either not fought for a while, or not fought before at all. Looks easy enough, especially for Adam.

 _Ding ding!_ The match begins and the rounds breeze by swiftly, and by the fifth round, it's obvious who's going to win this. The amount of hours Adam's put into training, along with his determination, has the adrenaline surging through his veins and into his punches. Blood begins to spill quickly.

"Aaron!" His name is called over the yells of the spectators, and Aaron looks up to see Finn calling over to him, waving his arms to get his attention quickly. The medic's sat in the corner of the ring, bag at his feet. "I'm running low on wipes. Run to the store cupboard and pick some more up for us."

The keys come flying straight into Aaron's palm a few seconds later, and he nods and pushes his way through the cluster of watchers. The store cupboard's tucked away in the back corner of the gym, small and cramped, but it's a welcome relief from being shoved around by the crowd staggering and overbalancing all over the place.

There's absolutely no ventilation and it's boiling hot, hot enough to get the sweat forming along Aaron's collar after a few seconds of just standing in there, so he knows he needs to move quick. The shelves are stacked high with all sorts of medical supplies, from neck braces to bulk boxes of soothing cream and way more paracetamol than can be legal to possess. The antiseptic wipes are on the second shelf, hidden behind a roll of bandages, and Aaron has to stand on a crate to reach them.

"We need to talk." The door shuts quietly and a voice which Aaron recognises speaks. Aaron sighs, turns around and folds his arms.

"Says the guy who's been avoiding me," he replies bitterly, stepping down from the crate and kicking it aside. Robert rolls his eyes. "I mean, that's real mature, Robert - just giving me the silent treatment. You could have least answered my calls."

"Why should I? I don't owe you anything."

"I never said you did," Aaron frowns.

"Well, forgive me for not wanting to spend time with you after our little fiasco. Have you forgotten that Oliver exists, or something? Are you really that desperate that you're chasing taken guys?"

"You seemed more than up for it," he scoffs, leaning back against the shelves. A large groan comes from the people outside, muffled by the walls. "If I recall correctly, that boyfriend you worship so dearly was the reason you looked like shit that day."

"How many fucking times have I told you to keep your nose out of _my_ business?" Robert spits through gritted teeth and clenched jaw, taking a few steps closer. He's a good two inches taller than Aaron, and although he's a little intimidating, the image of shaking, nervous Robert that Aaron saw on the way back from the chippy that night drains most of the façade. "Oliver means the world to me and you are not fucking that up."

"Well, if darling Olly is so special, why don't you tell him about that night?" Aaron raises an eyebrow, and the fire flames in Robert's eyes. "I mean, it was just a drunken mistake, right? If he's so adoring and accepting, I'm sure he'll understand that _you_ making a move on  _me_ meant nothing. If you come in tomorrow with your face still in one piece, I'll believe you."

That's when Robert takes hold of Aaron's collar and shoves him back into the un-papered wall. Aaron winces as he feels his body collide with the brickwork, and before he can punch back, Robert's there, pinning him and preventing him for moving. The waves of anger crash off of him, almost visible, and Aaron grits his teeth, frustrated and quite possibly hard.

"Go on, hit me," he says, giving Robert a hard shove backwards, but it does nothing. "Do your worst, you fuck."

He both expects and completely doesn't expect the lips that come crashing onto his, but _fuck_ , it's a relief. It's rough, messy and angry, and Robert tastes of salt and alcohol and his hair's still damp with both rain and perspiration. Robert's hand finds the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it up, fingers brushing along Aaron's skin, and he's just about to help him get his shirt off when Robert pulls back.

"Nononono _no_ ," Aaron shakes his head, way too turned on to stop now. "You are _not_ backing out now."

And, luckily, Robert doesn't.

Aaron's not quite sure if this is all reality until later, when his jeans are round his ankles, Robert's on his knees, and he's coming apart with a shudder, a string of curses and Robert's groaned name against the cold brick wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to spare you my awful writing of smut :P


	10. Stacked Odds

"Wow, you took your time, didn't you?" Finn yells when he spots Aaron wriggling through the crowd, box of antiseptic wipes in his hand. It's nearing round nine now, and the anticipation of who's going to fall first is being to build between both the opponents and the spectators betting on them. Aaron ducks his head to hide just how flustered he is, and hands Finn the box with a mumbled "Yeah, sorry mate, couldn't find them." Finn believes him though, and begins talking about how awfully cramped that storage room is before the round ends and Adam staggers over to his corner, blood swimming from his gums. Finn immediately gets to work, and Aaron climbs up to the side of the ring, next to the heaving boxer. 

"You've won this, mate, you know you have," Aaron says as Adam takes a swig of water and spits it back out. Adam has the chance to breathe out a quick thanks before the next round starts and he's back in the centre, circling his opponent like an animal. 

Aaron's on _fire_ , and not because of the heat. The last few minutes of his life are a blur, a strange whirlpool of zippers and sweat and lips and teeth and singing nerve endings. Robert... well, who knows where Robert's disappeared to. He'd just stood up, licked his lips (which Aaron fucking loved), and said how 'that was fun' and 'not a word gets out to anyone'.

_"It was a one time thing, yeah?"_

_"Yeah, of course."_

Both of them know they were lying through their fucking teeth. Neither of them want to admit it.

 

~

 

Aaron gets home after Adam wins the fight. He spins some excuse about how he doesn't feel like going to the pub, and Adam's unsurprisingly confused at Aaron suddenly breaking tradition, but Aaron says that he feels a splitting headache coming on and it's probably best to just take a few pills and go to bed. It's really because he's still hard as a fucking rock and he needs to take care of himself, but he doesn't really trust Adam enough to tell him that yet.

 

~

 

Robert shows his face in the gym during normal training for the first time in over a week. Here on business, like always, as he walks straight into Jai's office without a second glance to anyone. 

The gentle buzz of idle chatter is shattered by the sudden exclamation of "Oh, _fuck_!" from the corner of the gym, and all heads turn over to the source of the call - it's so loud and strained that even Robert and Jai emerge from the office to see what the hell's happened. And what _has_ happened is Ross has gone over on his leg and pulled his muscle into another dimension. He's on the floor, looking totally fucked off with all of life when Finn runs over, more scared brother than medic. 

"Are you alright?" the younger boy asks urgently, kneeling beside his sibling.

"Oh, just fine and fucking dandy," Ross spits, the pain in his voice making it sound more malicious, and the expression on his face gets the point across that maybe the injury is worse than it looks. "Forgive me for not getting up and doing cartwheels."

Finn's lived with this for ages though, so he just brushes it off and helps his brother to his feet, with David warily by his other side, ready to catch Ross if he topples over. Cain's in the background, smirking, and when Aaron looks over to Robert quickly, Robert's also wearing _that_ smirk Aaron hasn't seen for a while. He's sort of relieved to see it, really - it's further proof that Robert's back to his usual self.

"Anything you can do?" Jai asks to Finn, brow furrowed, and Finn just gives him an uneasy look. 

"No training for you for at least the rest of the week," he says to his brother, who lets out a frustrated groan. "Just sit down and try not to move too much."

He helps Ross limp over to the nearest bench and sit him down gingerly, and between the multitude of curses coming out of Ross' mouth, he still gives his brother a rare genuine smile of gratitude, before slumping back to his miserable self and flips the bird as Cain starts shaking with silent laughter.

"Alright, ladies, enough drama, back to work!" Cain announces, and everyone immediately restarts training, not really wanting to become the butt of Cain's anger. 

Aaron looks round to where the door to Jai's office is located; Jai looks disinterested, turning to retreat back into his room, but Robert's still there, and just as Aaron meets his eyes, Robert drops his gaze a second too late for Aaron to not notice. Aaron smiles to himself, and walks over to the punchbag, shaking his head slightly before pulling on his gloves and getting to work.

 

~

 

One incredibly annoying feature of the gym is the lack of running water - abandoning a building kinda does that to it. So, the toilet block is rendered unusable, and that often results in people having to either run home to their own apartments (or, if they live far away, each other's) or, if they're really desperate, piss in the alleyway. Most people decide to hold it.

Two huge rooms serving no purpose whatsoever wasn't going to just fly under Jai's radar, though, so it serves as a handy extra storage room for the extensive amounts of medical supplies that Jai orders to ensure his fighters stay in tip-top condition. Even a slight cut and his paranoia soars, and he'll be busy panic-buying rolls of bandages and boxes of plasters and casts for broken bones. He funds full medical examinations several times a year - Aaron's is approaching soon.

Finn's sat beside a wound-up Ross, checking his knee which is slowly beginning to balloon and swell. He's grimacing, examining the injury, apologising repeatedly every time Ross winces or swears, before turning to Aaron.

"Hey, Aaron, do you know where the toilet block is?" he asks, to which Aaron nods briskly. "Well, there's some heel pads in there, in the smallest box - they'll help with his leg. Could you run and get them? Without taking all day this time?" He adds the last part with a cheeky smile, and Aaron can't help but smile in reply and nod politely, taking off and heading down the long thin corridor he didn't even know existed till about weeks ago.

The bathroom's freezing cold, a violent contrast to the sweltering humidity of the gym, walled with cracked, grimy tiles and cluttered with too many cardboard boxes to count. Aaron can't identify the smell lingering in the air but it isn't pleasant, and it's eerily, uncomfortably silent.

He begins rifling through the smaller of the boxes, the rustling amplified dramatically by the tiles, when there's footsteps suddenly bouncing off the walls. Aaron shoots up straight, slightly alarmed, but he relaxes when he sees who it is.

"You enjoy following me into small rooms?" he asks deadpan, biting his lip so he doesn't smile, and the smirk that spreads across Robert's face is the snarkiest and sexiest yet. "Kinda creepy."

"Just wondering when your next fight is," Robert says, burying his hand into the pockets of his navy jacket, and Aaron raises a questioning eyebrow. "Is it tomorrow?"

"And you had to corner me in a bathroom just to ask that?"

"You've got to throw it, don't you? The fight." Robert's voice turns serious, and Aaron's stomach turns when he remembers that _shit_. He _does_.

"What makes you think that?" Aaron asks, defensive.

"Jai warned me not to bet on you -  doesn't want me to lose my money. And since you'd more than definitely win against the guy you're fighting, it's obvious that it's your turn to hit the mat."

"Yeah, well, you're allowed to come," Aaron snaps, the spite and sarcasm in his voice rising. He hates being so easily read, he hates how Robert's voice sounds annoyingly low and sympathetic like he's consoling a toddler. "Have a good laugh. Bring dear Oliver along - let him pick up some tips!" That comment causes Robert's lip to curl, and Aaron wonders for a second if he's maybe pushed it too far. Every time he brings Oliver up, Robert seems to grow angry, and Aaron knows its more out of fear than protectiveness. It's as if Robert's scared that Oliver's round every corner, overhearing every conversation and discovering the infidelity bit by bit.

It was a one time thing. It won't happen again.

"Just go home, Robert," Aaron sighs, turning back to the box and resuming his search. "And if you turn up at that fight, I will kill you."

Robert's left before Aaron's finished his sentence. Aaron pulls out the heel pads and heads back to Ross and Finn, cursing under his breath.

 

~

 

When the night of the match rolls along, Adam doesn't bother comforting his friend, as he knows it'll be no good.

Same old crowd swarming around outside, same old drunken punters, same stacks of cash being generated in Jai's office. Only today, the stacks will be a mile high, as no one expects Aaron to lose. He wouldn't lose this match if it was fair.

The anger is beginning to boil his blood before the fight even starts, and Aaron has to refrain from punching the shit out of a locker door when Adam walks in and informs him that it's time to start. _It's alright. You only have to fight seven rounds. It won't be that painful. It'll be fine. Just grit your teeth and bare it._ He continues lying to himself until he reaches the ring, and sees his opponent. They're similar in size and stature, with Aaron being maybe an inch or two taller, and yet he has to make his loss look convincing.

The bell rings and he immediately feels ill.

The punches _hurt._ Taking each blow just reminds him how good he is at blocking and dodging them. But now he's feeling the glove collide with the skin all over his face and ribs, splitting it, leaving marks where violet bruises will blossom and where the traumatised flesh with swell. He can taste metallic blood inside his mouth. The skin above his eyebrow splits easily with each easy punch, and he's practically blinded by the blood. He offers punches back, and lands quite a few good ones, but it's no where near as good as he could be.

Heath and Finn are in his corner, and can do nothing but offer pats on the back and uneasy, weak words of encouragement and support as the medic swipes at his wounds. The crowd were stunned into near-silence when he allowed the first hit to knock him staggering, one which any idiot could have blocked, and the noise has barely stirred as the spectators watch with disbelief and surprise. Some people have clearly picked up that this is fixed, but most remain duped, and confused.

He hits the mat when he's supposed to, the imprint of an eye-watering stinging punch to the face knocking him down, and he waits as the referee declares his opponent the winner. A section of the crowd cheer, but the rest just stay in stunned silence, with a smattering of sarcastic applause. He stands up and storms out, through the crowd, and down the corridor to the bathroom, where he lets out a long shuddering breath, peels off his gloves, and punches the tile until his knuckles begin to bleed.

 

~

 

"Aaron? Aaron!" The voice Aaron really doesn't want to hear is making its way down the corridor. Nononononono _fuck_.

"I told you not to fucking come tonight!" Aaron yells back, turning away from Robert. He's stunned when he realises just how ashamed he feels to be seen like this, shaking and bloody and defeated, and especially by the man he fucked less than twenty-four hours ago. He feels vulnerable, embarrassed at how everyone just saw such a shit performance. Adam was laughed out of the ring after his fixed fall, but no one laughed just now - there was just silence, enough to hear a pin drop, and Aaron knows that's worse.

But Robert keeps getting closer, and when Aaron hears his footsteps begin clattering on the tile, he feels cornered. "Had a good look?" he spits, blood trickling from the cut on his forehead and pooling in his mouth and he feels like he's going to throw up. 

"Yeah, I enjoyed watching you get the shit kicked out of you," Robert replies with equal venom. "I was hoping some of that attitude would go with it, but maybe next time, eh? I mean, you should have seen the money Jai pulled in tonight - looks like you're the favourite to fall next time as well. All he sees you as is a piece of meat."

Aaron chews on his bottom lip in anger. He knows Jai doesn't really care about his fighters' well-beings, but being told that just brings it all home with more crashing force.

"You did a good job making it look convincing," Robert continues, walking closer, and Aaron can feel him lingering behind him. He wants to turn round and sock him in the face, tell him to back off and shut the fuck up, but he's shaking from the cold and the waves of anger cascading off of him in deep breaths. That and feeling Robert's presence is a strange feeling that keeps him on edge, and at the worst possible time, he can feel his dick stirring in his shorts. "You look an absolute mess, you're _covered_ in blood."

"Just piss off, Robert, _please._ " Aaron's practically on the verge of begging, back still to the older man, and his skinned knuckles are beginning to sting. "Go home to Oliver, I don't want you here."

"I don't care," Robert replies, voice suddenly quietening, and Aaron's brow creases, before a hand clamps onto his shoulder and spins him round before he can react.

He has no idea how bad his face looks, but it's obviously bad judging by Robert's reaction. There's no huge gasp, no widening of stunned eyes, but Robert's jaw clenches and he looks almost angry - proper anger, the same way Aaron looked when he found out his mum's last boyfriend was cheating on her. That vengeful anger, caused by someone else, on someone else's behalf.

"It's not as bad as it looks," is the only poor excuse Aaron can offer, looking down at the cracked floor and feeling utterly humiliated. "The blood... the blood makes it look worse." 

Robert lets out a sigh, then his sight turns to the boxes of supplies, and he bends down to the nearest one and begins looking through it. "Go and sit down," he says, without looking up.

"Seriously, it's nothing, it doesn't even hurt!" It does. Aaron's face feels like it's on fire, the injuries pulsing violently.

"Don't give me that shit," Robert scoffs, emerging triumphant with a half-full box of antiseptic wipes which Aaron clearly missed. He points to the counter, where two grimy, broken sinks sit beneath a pair of shattered mirrors. Aaron dodges the glass deliberately, not wanting to see the extent of his injuries, and reluctantly takes a seat on the edge of the counter as Robert rips open a packet of wipes with his teeth and spits the piece of plastic to the floor. 

"Sorry, sorry," he apologises profusely as he tends to the wound above Aaron's eyebrow as gingerly as he can, wiping away the crimson blood and dabbing at the cut with obvious experience. Each swipe sends stings and tingles swimming down Aaron's nerves, but the cool fabric soon begins to work its magic, and before long the heat is beginning to subside. Aaron never sees his reflection, but he catches sight of the rag a couple times, caked in thick, vibrant blood.

Robert's touch is gentle, careful and precise, and it makes Aaron wonder how many times Robert's been sat in front of the bathroom mirror at home, tending to his own injuries after a row with Oliver.

"That needs stitches," the blonde man says as he clears away the last of the blood and holds the damp wipe to the cut, trying to stem the blood. Aaron's relieved when he speaks - the silence has been verging on uncomfortable for too long, filled with words they both want to say but don't dare.

"It'll be fine," Aaron says stubbornly, and Robert just rolls his eyes, ripping open another packet and crouching down slightly to tend to Aaron's split bottom lip. 

"Fine. It's your infection," he just replies, and the guilt begins to spread in Aaron's gut. There's no need to be a dick to the person helping him out - it's like being rude to Finn, who'd never deserve it in a million years. 

"Thanks, though," he eventually says, and Robert stops for a second, looks him in the eye, smiles slightly and nods.

 

~

 

It takes a while, but Aaron's face is finally clean of blood and, aside from the slashes of red above his eyebrow and down his cheek and on his lips, he looks somewhat normal. At least, he will for the next few hours, as he knows that soon his bruises will start to swell and he'll puff up and look ridiculous for a while.

It's late, and the punters have filtered out of the gym and are now most probably attacking the local pub, and no doubt discussing their opinions on the shambles that occurred in the ring tonight. The gym's quiet, way more quiet than Aaron's used to, and the knowledge that him and Robert are alone with no chance of interruption stirs a mixed bag of emotions in Aaron's stomach.

There's barely any light, everything's dimly lit by moonlight leaking in through the gaps in the boarded-up windows, and although Aaron has to admit that Robert looks good in any lighting, but tonight, it's something more. Maybe it's because Robert attended the match, maybe because he tended to his injuries, and maybe it's because the tension between them stirs, a constant reminder of the storeroom and they both know that even if it was just a one-time thing, it was a fucking good one. One that neither would particularly mind repeating.

Of course neither of them verbalize this - just blurting out "I want to fuck you again" is more of a repellent than anything.

"Okay, all done," Robert announces, scrunching up the used wipes and tossing them into a borderline-overflowing bin in the corner. "You really should get that cut looked at, though." He gestures towards the widest, deepest slice above Aaron's eyebrow, and instead of refusing again, Aaron just nods, and that draws a relieved smile onto Robert's lips. "You're not going to go out and start punching the wall again, are you?"

Aaron shakes his head, looking down at his knuckles. The blood's dried and darkened.

"Thank you," he says, more sincerely and genuine than last time. "You've clearly done this a few times before."

"You learn to, living with Oliver," Robert replies, and the way he says it, so suddenly spiteful and bitter, takes Aaron aback. "Remember that black eye I had?" Ah, yes. The one which had led to their first kiss. Another memory which makes Aaron hard. "It was healing fine, but then Oliver got pissed over something pathetic, and lobbed a fucking TV remote at my head."

"Why haven't you just turned around and beat the shit out of him yet?" Aaron asks, knowing that that's the first thing he'd do.

"Oh, believe me, I have," Robert says. "I've retaliated a few times. Most of the time, he doesn't even give me the chance to."

Aaron can just imagine the arguments they have, some drunk and some sober, violent yells that shake the walls of the apartment. Then the rough, angry make-up sex that probably follows, causing the walls to shake even more. That's probably the only reason Robert's sticking around. That and he's scared of what will happen if he tries to leave.

Robert hoists himself up onto the counter, next to Aaron, and leans back so he's resting against the cold mirror, visibly shivering when his skin comes in contact with the glass. Aaron does the same, and their heads are literally touching (and Aaron knows he's violently turned on) when there's suddenly a hand on his uninjured cheek and a pair of teasing lips on his own. Aaron's heart leaps, and he's straining against his shorts (also realising just how underdressed he is - boxing shorts, shoes, socks, and that's literally it. No wonder he's so cold)

The kiss grows, Robert being careful of Aaron's split lip, but Aaron doesn't care. His fingers latch around Robert's collar and pull him closer until he's virtually underneath him, and he can feel Robert's equally as turned on. There's one hand cupping his neck, one running through his hair, and he feels like he's on fire.

"I though it was a one time thing," Robert says, breathy, as his wet lips trail kisses down Aaron's jawline, and Aaron shudders and thrives beneath him.

"Do you want it to be?" Aaron replies, and as his hands work their way under Robert's shirt and lift it over his head, revealing his pale torso to the night air, Robert actually laughs slightly, and pulls back the waistband on Aaron's shorts.

"No."


	11. Parallels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I really don't like this chapter. I'm sorry this is so bad!

 Aaron... well, Aaron's brain is pretty much blown to pieces when Robert starts groaning his name, hands writhing through the boxer's hair, his moans echoing and bouncing off of the walls and just urging him on further. Robert's hips buck and his breath catches in his throat, voice strained, and then he lets out a long, rich moan that sends shivers of delight throughout Aaron's body. He stands up, wiping his lips, and pulls himself up onto the counter next to Robert, who looks like he's coming down from cloud nine. 

" _Fuck_ ," he eventually breathes when he's finally caught his breath back.

Aaron just nods, equally as worn-out as he reaches for his boxers that are strewn carelessly on the edge of the counter. He slips them on, and picks up his shorts that are lying, crumpled, near one of the cubicle doors. His normal clothes are back in the locker room, folded on a bench and forgotten about.

"Aw, I liked this shirt," Robert says, lifting up the patterned shirt he'd been wearing, which is now missing a few buttons. They'd pinged off and clattered against the floor when Aaron had gotten a bit over-enthusiastic. Still, neither of them were complaining. Aaron chuckles, which coaxes a laugh from Robert too, who scrunches the fabric up and tosses it to Aaron. "Keep it as a souvenir if you like," he quips sarcastically, smirking.

"Yeah, I'll frame it," Aaron scoffs, throwing it back, and he's about to turn to retrieve his clothing when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. "Oh, for fuck's sake, you've given me another hickey!" There it is, bold and fresh and darkening by the minute, and Aaron then sees another one on his chest. "You do realise that Adam is not going to shut up about these for ages?"

"Well, unless he's the one who put them there, it's not really his business," Robert grins, pulling up his trousers and shrugging on his shirt, doing up the remaining buttons. A fleeting look of panic crosses his face when he realises he'll have to spin an excuse to Oliver about a) why he's back so late, and b) why his clothes are in such a state; no matter what he says, there's no way Oliver will believe him. Still, if he's sober, there's more chance that'll it will just end in an argument, maybe a few bitter phrases, before they just go to bed and possibly fuck. 

Aaron was careful not to give Robert any hickeys or bruises specifically for that reason - he doesn't want to light the fuse that results in Robert having the shit beaten out of him by his partner. He hasn't seen Oliver for ages, not since before their first drunken kiss, and he's not quite sure what to make of that.

Once he's finally located his t-shirt and jeans from his locker and dressed, Aaron bids Robert goodbye and heads home, back to his shitty apartment, already feeling his eyelids droop in post-coitus fatigue. It only takes him seconds to fall asleep when he shrugs out of his clothes and delves down into the plush covers, still tender, and falls into shameless less-than-PG dreams about the same blonde, taken businessman.

 

~

 

When Aaron and Adam are getting changed for training the next day, Aaron begins literally counting the seconds after he takes his shirt off. 

It takes fourteen seconds before Adam notices the hickeys. "Someone get lucky last night, eh?"

"No, I had a fight with a hoover," he replies, before ducking the boxing glove that comes flying his way. "Damn thing nearly took my head off."

"Anyone I know?" Adam asks, thrusting out his arms, and Aaron laces up his friend's gloves, roughly but effectively.

"Possibly."

Adam stops dead, ears perked like a dog's. "No way. It's not someone from this gym, is it?"

"Depends what you mean," Aaron teases further, throwing the roll of tape to Adam who catches it effortlessly. 

"Oh my god, it wasn't Finn, was it? Cause Ross will kill you if it was. Holy shit, it wasn't _Ross_?"

"What? No! Why the hell would it be Ross?" Aaron would be lying if he said he hasn't thought about it - Ross certainly isn't the worst looking lad in the world, and neither is his little brother, but he can't really see it actually happening any time soon. "Since when has Ross been gay?"

"Well, he fucked Robert Sugden once, so he's definitely not straight."

Aaron bolts upright, fast enough to almost give him vertigo. "What?"

"He fucked Robert." Adam says it casually, like he's telling some story over a pint in the pub, gossiping like old Betty would before she left. Still, to Adam, it is just gossip. "They used to be really good mates, y'know. Then, one night they got drunk, and apparently Finn walked in on them, poor guy. They're both adamant that the other one made the first move, of course. I don't think they've exchanged two words since."

 

~

 

The image of Ross and Robert fucking doesn't leave Aaron's head for a long time, and he has to use all his might to avoid getting hard when he thinks about it - the last thing he wants is to get an erection in the middle of training. Still, he's absolutely itching to ask Robert what the hell happened, but it's just his luck that Robert is a complete no-show all day. So, he spends most of the day by the punch bag, drenched in sweat, until Adam pulls him out into the alley for a smoke break.

"So, go on, who left the hickeys?" Adam asks as he exhales a long breath of smoke that curls and trails up into the air. Aaron laughs, flicking the ash from his own cigarette.

"Why do you want to know?" 

"Because I wanna know if it's the same guy who left them last time," he replies with a grin. "Look, if you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's Ross."

"No, it wasn't Ross!" Aaron's still laughing, unsure as to what's fueling his friend's eagerness - maybe he's just being nosy. Telling Adam anything is a risky move, as over the months, Aaron's learnt that he's somewhat prone to blurting things out at various times, his mouth five seconds ahead of his brain. The last thing anyone wants is the news of Robert's infidelity spreading round the town, inevitably reaching Oliver, who'll no doubt take his anger out on his boyfriend; Aaron doesn't particularly fancy contributing to Robert being beaten black and blue.

"Okay, fine," he finally gives in, exasperated, tossing his cigarette to his feet and stamping on it. "You've got to promise to keep your gob shut, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course!" Who knows how many times Adam's said that and actually gone through with it.

"I'm being serious, Adam," hisses Aaron, and that gets the message across. He feels like he's back in year six, begging a fellow classmate to not grass him up for having gum in school or scrapping with another kid round the back of the bike sheds. "If it gets out, then someone's going to get seriously hurt."

"Okay, I get it," Adam nods, now looking sincere, so Aaron takes a breath.

"It's Robert. I slept with Robert," he says, and it feels peculiar saying it out loud, like he still hasn't gotten over the fact that it's actually happened yet. Adam, on the other hand, looks like he just won the lottery.

"Holy shit, I knew it, I _knew_ you were looking at each other weird the other day!" Adam announces at the top of his fucking lungs (Aaron rolls his eyes at the reaction he completely anticipated). "Isn't he shacked up with that Oliver guy?"

"Yeah, and that's why this really doesn't need to get out, so shut the hell up. Listen," Aaron knows the only way he can guarantee Adam will stay silent is to guilt-trip him. "You know when Robert came in looking like shit a few weeks ago? All bruised and cut up? Well, that was Oliver. Oliver beats him up all the time. If he ever finds out about this, what the hell is he going to do to Robert?"

"Kick seven shades of shit out of him," Adam answers, and they both nod in understanding. "Don't worry, mate, your secret's safe with me."

"Thanks, mate," Aaron smiles, relief washing over him, and he feels like he can trust Adam on this one.

 

~

 

When Robert does show his face, it's three days after the last fuck, and he's not in Jai's office, discussing whatever secretive business they do. Instead, it's when Aaron's getting changed into his sports gear, shirtless and chiselled that Robert walks into the changing room, obviously pleasantly surprised to see him there as his eyes immediately begin wandering all over Aaron's torso.

"Hey," he greets him casually, leaning against the lockers and looking unfairly attractive in that jacket which Aaron last saw strewn across the bathroom floor. "Have you got a fight coming up soon?"

"Not that I know of," Aaron replies, tugging on a vest and unbuttoning his jeans. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to miss it." Robert watches intently as Aaron steps out of his jeans and into a pair of fresh boxing shorts, checking him out shamelessly, and Aaron can feel his ego inflating by the second. The fact that someone as good-looking as Robert is happily checking him out - _and_ sleeping with him - is probably the biggest compliment he's ever received.

"Why? You hoping for a repeat of last time?" Aaron asks with a confident smirk, but he halts when he sees Robert's smile falter slightly.

"There won't be, not for a while," he says. "Got a business trip, down in Manchester - it's a long one. About a fortnight."

It's not as dramatic as Robert makes it sound - a fortnight without sex is bearable, Aaron's gone through it as much as all single people have. "Alright, cool, hope everything goes well."

"Aaron," Robert begins, taking a few steps forward and lowering his voice, and Aaron's brow creases in confusion. "I think we need to stop this. It's not fair on Oliver."

That provokes a laugh, a proper, brutal laugh from Aaron, a reaction to the ridiculousness of that statement. "It's not fair on _Oliver_? You're getting smacked around and yet you're still on his side?" The bluntness of his opinions doesn't really register, and all he sees is Robert's cowardice, his pure denial of the situation he's in through no fault of his own. It's irritating, frustrating that every time he sees Robert his first instinct is to search his face for fresh bruises. "I don't understand how the hell you can be happy with him. Remember that night we were drunk? It's obvious you're terrified of him." Robert's face hardens with every word, the anger becoming more and more apparent, and all that does is spur Aaron on. "Why don't you just leave him? It's not difficult."

"Because I love him," Robert snaps, and Aaron doesn't think he's ever heard more anger and spite in such a short sentence. It's enough to shut him up, and Robert swiftly registers that it's his turn to voice his mind. "I love him, and I _don't_ love you, in case you've somehow got that in your head. You think you know him just because you've seen what very fucking rarely happens? I'm no fucking saint either, I've hit him before too."

"God, Robert, listen to yourself," Aaron sighs gruffly, exasperated. "You sound delusional."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Aaron, _you're_ the delusional one here. You think a couple quick fucks and I'm just going to dump Oliver and come running to you?"

"You can go running to whoever you want - I just don't want you coming in with a black eye from someone who apparently loves you."

"That black eye was an extreme, okay? It was a rarity."

"What, like we were?" Aaron scowls, and Robert's fuming, but he doesn't reply. "You and Oliver can't be that solid if you're looking elsewhere."

He steps forward, half-expecting Robert to swing at him, but thankfully his fists remain by his side. "Look, Robert, I don't know how much of that night we were drunk you remember, but you were honest that night." Robert can't meet his gaze, looking down at his feet and chewing on his bottom lip, biting it red. "I've seen this type of shit before. My mum's had dodgy boyfriends in the past who raise their fists - it always ends badly."

"Why do you care?" Robert queries, and for the first time in the whole conversation, it isn't bitter and spiteful. It's a genuine question, curiosity gleaming in his eyes, and Aaron just shrugs.

"You're a mate. And I care about what happens to my mates."

And then Robert's leaning down and pressing his lips to Aaron's, in the middle of the changing rooms, and Aaron's heart flutters frantically in his chest. They break apart when they hear Cain's booming voice pass outside, yelling insults at Ross (surprise, surprise).

"On the subject of Ross," Aaron begins, a small smirk spreading across his kiss-bitten lips. "What's all this about you apparently sleeping with him?"

Robert pauses, as if he's rifling through his memory for the scene, then starts chuckling in reminiscent amusement. "Don't even get me started."

 

~

 

Robert feels the guilt stirring in his stomach the minute he leaves the gym and heads down to his apartment.

The argument with Aaron's replaying over and over in his head, every selfish, dickish thing he said highlighted in bold lettering in his head and serving as yet another reminder of just how much of a prick he is. A smug, arrogant, useless prick, neck-deep in denial he's more than aware of yet somehow can't escape. 

Oliver's complicated. That's what he knows for sure. Three years living with him and sitting through every violent, glass-shattering argument and every make-out session on the couch has proven that to him over and over. And yet, the unpredictability hangs over him like a storm cloud. He's a switch that turns over the slightest thing, from Jekyll to Hyde, loving to bitter, and it's like living on a knife edge trying not to provoke him whenever he returns from the pub drunk, or wound-up over an occurrence at work, because Robert knows exactly who he'll take it out on.

When they first met, Oliver had moved into the apartment next door, and Robert had been awaken at three a.m. by jazz music seeping through the walls. He was a cute, bouncy writer with a mop of brown curls and freckles and rounded specs that made him look so innocent and pure, Robert was scared of leaving fingerprints on him.

The first fight happened eight months in, when Oliver came home swaying with drunkenness and stinking of alcohol, and Robert can't even remember what triggered the argument, but it all kicked off quickly. The punch came down on his right eye with unexpected force, knocking Robert down, and whoever it was that caused the bruise certainly wasn't the Oliver that Robert had grown to adore.

After that, things just seemed to decline at a dragging, unbearable pace. The fights got more frequent, and more violent. Sometimes Robert hit back, causing injuries of his own, but most of the time he just tried to hold him back and wait for him to calm down, and when he accepted that he wasn't going to win, he just sat there and took it. Now, there's more just black and white. Happy and bouncy and friendly Oliver, and then the other side of him.

And then there's Aaron. Robert knew he liked him the second he met him - there's a careless, independent vibe that surrounds him which Robert more than admires. He doesn't know what started all that in the storeroom, but he knew afterwards that he wanted more. Then the fight happened, and he had to watch him get beaten up in the name of illegal business, and it _infuriated_ him, seeing someone who doesn't deserve it suffer for a pathetic reason. Not just anyone, either. Someone he cared about, someone he fancied, which just made it worse.

And Aaron feels the exact same about Robert's situation. Maybe they're more similar than they think.

 

 


	12. Keypad Proclamations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry about the update break - school got hectic again :)

Robert packs for Manchester and kisses Oliver goodbye, just for the fortnight, and the second he sets foot on the train and finds an isolated seat, a long sigh escapes his lungs. He's always felt smothered in that apartment, in Emmerdale overall, so the knowledge that he'll be able to spend the next fourteen days wandering round a large city holding abundances of people to meet and things to see is a welcome relief. Most of his time will be consumed by meetings and paperwork and consulting obnoxious business people, but he doesn't care - it's a pleasant (if slightly underwhelming) getaway.

It's a two hour journey which flies pretty quickly, thanks to a fully charged iPod and several levels of Candy Crush, and his phone buzzes twice as the texts from Oliver predictably start flooding in. Robert ignores them, tucks his phone back into his jacket pocket and eventually puts it on silent just to shut it up for once.

Thankfully Oliver was asleep when Robert had got home after the night with Aaron, so all he had to do was get undressed, stuff his ripped shirt to the bottom of the drawer, out of sight, then slip into bed and act innocent the next morning. He dodged any questions over about three cups of coffee, then headed out and caught his train.

The guilt over his outburst at Aaron is still jabbing at his gut, everytime he thinks of the gym or the upcoming fights or Jai, and he knows it's probably best to forget it and get over it, but its harder than he thought it would be. Apparently their argument had been louder than either of them had first believed, as their muffled shouts had been audible from Jai's office. Luckily, he wasn't able to decipher their words - things would have blown way out of control if he could have - but the intensity of it was more than obvious, enough to cause Jai to give Robert the third degree when he'd retreated back to the office. Robert had just brushed it off as not important, and although Jai clearly hadn't fell for it, he eventually decided it wasn't worth his time and moved on.

The train rolls into the city centre and Robert steps out into the swarm of strangers, feeling incredibly overdressed in his suit amongst the crowd of mostly brand-clad college students. It's different, though; it's a breath of fresh air.

The office block looks drab and dreary in contrast to the trendy shops surrounding it, but it's work and it has to be done. He heads inside, greets the people he'll be sharing an office with for the next two weeks and settles down at his chosen desk.

 

~

 

It's quite a contrast at Aaron's place of work - no one sits down unless its out of exhaustion.

It's strange, knowing that Robert won't be around for the next fortnight, but Aaron doesn't dwell on it too much; he can't afford to be distracted when he's sparring with Jeremy, where one lone punch could knock him through the floorboards if he's not ready for it. Heath's already cradling a bloody nose, and Adam happily dodges the chance in preference of just doing cardio instead - aching muscles and sweat-drenched clothes are always better than the hospital appointment Jeremy will probably land someone in.

Adam's informed he has a fight coming up the next day, a fair one, and Aaron helps him train that night, barking orders with pads on his hands as Adam jabs at them tirelessly. That's something Aaron's jealous of - Adam never seems to get tired, even after a fight. It does make him a great drinking buddy, though.

"You gonna be alright without Robert to bang for a while?" Adam asks with a cheeky smirk during a smoke break, and Aaron throws the empty packet at his head.

"You're never gonna let it go, are you?"

"Nope," he laughs, ducking and letting the packet drift away down the street. "You should tell Ross. See if he gets jealous."

"Oh, yeah, that'd go well," Aaron scoffs, taking a drag on his cigarette, the end of the tube glowing cherry red in the dim evening twilight. Aaron's been spending more and more time in the gym lately, using his apartment only to sleep or shower or wolf down breakfast in the morning (he can't cook for shit - bacon sandwiches are his speciality) then arriving here to train. He's careful not to overwork himself, push himself over the limit he's established, as athletic as he is, he's collapsed from exhaustion more than once before and it isn't fun.

"Hey, if things don't go well with Robert," - which they won't - "you've always got Finn. It's no secret that he fancies ya."

Aaron laughs. "You know Ross would murder me."

"I think Ross is expecting it," Adam replies, finishing his cigarette and tossing it to the floor, crushing it into a pile of scorched, drained tobacco. "Finn blushes bright red whenever he gets close t-"

"Alright, back to work, ladies!" Ross' voice suddenly bleeds into the alleyway, and his head's sticking out from the doorframe, hair matted with perspiration and tumbling in strands over his face, looking more like he's just come out of the shower. Still, it's not an uncommon sight. Even in the middle of winter, the lack of ventilation in the gym has it heating up like some sort of pressure cooker. Aaron thought he'd have grown used to be by now, but no, he leaves every day drenched in sweat and desperate for a shower, even after the months he's spent attending the place. Adam seems to have built up some sort of immunity, though.

 

~

 

Adam's fight goes smoothly, and he wins by a landslide against an opponent who looks dog-tired and worn out. The crowd's less dense than previous fights, the same way a festival crowd thins out on the last day of performances, but it's still a sizable cluster of betters who are split pretty much straight down the middle as to who they expect to win. Jai's observing, discreet and inconspicuous as always, regarding with unreadable eyes as Adam beats his opponent to the ground.

Aaron's sat at the foot of the ring in the seat that's basically reserved for him during Adam's matches, and it's during the break between rounds six and seven when he feels his phone buzz and ring in his pocket. He pulls it out, the screen blaring white, and in big blue letters is a notification informing him that he has an unread text. From Robert.

 _Sorry for being a dick the other day,_ is what it says, and Aaron smiles for a reason he doesn't quite know himself.

 _You **were** a dick, _ he texts back, and waits a few minutes before texting again.  _But I guess you could make it up to me when you get back._

There's about a minute break before the next text rolls in, and Adam lands a violent punch as the crowd cheers. 

_So it's happening again, is it?_

_If you want it to._

_I suppose I could be up for that._

Aaron grins into his phone as Adam wins the match and the spectators roar.

 

~

 

Aaron's medical examination comes around a few days later, the one Jai subjects all his fighters to, to ensure they're in peak condition before being thrown back into the ring. It's just a quick going over in the local hospital, checking vitals and blood pressure and any recent injuries - the more thorough going-overs occur after a particularly bloody fight.

Adam's in the room with him, having just been checked himself, and now he's trying not to snigger as Aaron's perched on the counter, being told to cough and breathe and having his shirt collar tugged at by a pretty little doctor who's clearly enjoying herself. It's during this little examination when Aaron's still-vibrant hickeys are uncovered, marked like ink beneath his collar.

"And where are these bruises from?" she queries, but judging by her smirk, she already knows. Adam's almost biting through his bottom lip, trying not to laugh.

 

~

 

The days drag by, uneventful and tedious. Well, that's apart from the fact that Aaron's phone is practically blowing up with texts from Robert.

They're not innocent either. Lines he certainly wouldn't want his mother to see, and the odd picture that made Aaron flush bright crimson in the middle of the day, but had him writhing on his bed at night, with one name on his lips.

Robert's clearly more experienced with pick up lines than Aaron is - some of the stuff he comes out with has Aaron swooning, before realising what an idiot he is and replying with a  _Stop it_ , or a  _You're such a creep, old man._ Ever since the pair became aware of the five-year age difference between them, and the fact that Robert's slowly nearing thirty, Aaron takes great delight in reminding him about it every chance he gets.

When the final day of Robert's trip comes around, Aaron's so riled up he's unsure he'll be able to keep a cool head the next time he sees the older man in the office.

 

~

 

Three days after Robert's due back, he's still not made an appearance at the gym. In fact, Aaron hasn't seen him around town anywhere.

Jai summons him into the office as the clock nears midday, the office that smells like orange peel and expensive cologne and every wooden surface glitters with varnish, and he's rifling through the wad of paperwork in front of him as Aaron approaches, fanning himself with his t-shirt.

"You've got a fight next week," Jai announces, like it's news instead of a choice, less warm and more hostile than he's greeted him before.

"Fair?"

"Booked," he says, and his heart sinks. "To win." His brow furrows.

"Why to win?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest. "It's not like I need it."

"Most fighters would be relieved to know they don't have to worry about losing," Jai remarks, and Aaron scoffs. "The guy you're fighting's a beefcake, as well. It'll make you look good."

"I don't want a rigged win, I want a challenge!" Aaron protests, and Jai lets out a defeated, annoyed sigh, drums his fingers on the table in an irritating rhythm.

"It's gonna make you a lot of money," Jai adds in an attempt to swing the argument to his side. He's clearly not grown aware to Aaron's true stubbornness. "You're the fan favourite of several betters here. If Robert could walk, I'm sure he'd be here placing his life savings on your win."

That makes Aaron stop, makes his ears prick up as he replays the sentence in his head.  _If Robert could walk, I'm sure he'd be here placing his life savings on your win._

"What d'you mean, if he could walk?" he asks, frowning in bemusement as he takes a few steps closer to the desk, and finds himself looking back at a mirror of the same expression on the businessman's face.

"Weren't you told? Since you two seem to be best buddies now." Aaron bites the inside of his cheek to try and combat the redness he can feel creeping up and tainting his cheeks. Luckily the lack of natural light in the room disguises the colour. "His partner called in the other day - you know, Oliver?"

Aaron nods, a feeling in his stomach telling him this isn't going in a good direction.

"Well, he was in a car crash the other day. Nasty one, as well - cracked ribs, broken bones, the lot. I saw him yesterday, it's not pretty."

Aaron feels his stomach drop, feels his heart come into his mouth. He doesn't need to see it in the flesh to imagine the image - Robert, bruised and bloodied, crippled amongst the battered wreckage of his car.

"He's in the hospital in Harrogate if you want to drop a visit," Jai comments, and there's a tinge of a knowing smile on his lips that makes Aaron feel even more uncomfortable. "He won't be able to say anything, though. He's been in a coma since he got back."

"Yeah," Aaron just nods distractedly, unable to conceal the traumatized expression on his face. He feels like he's about to be sick. "Is... is Oliver okay?" Why is he asking? He doesn't know. It's polite.

"From what I heard, yeah, he seems fine."

"Okay," Aaron nods again, and leaves the office without another word before whipping out his mobile and examining the timestamp on the most recent text from Robert.  _15:36, 19th June 2015._ The day Robert was due back.

 

~

 

It's when Aaron's walking home when he realises - he's never seen Robert in a car. He's never seen Oliver in a car either. There was no car outside their apartment, and he knows that Robert caught the train to Manchester. The texts on his phone prove it.

He takes a few sleeping pills that night to force him into a rather restless slumber, with a stomach full of nerves telling him that Robert's going to be fine. He'll be fine he'll be fine he'll be fine he'll be fine there's something more going on here this wasn't a car crash Oliver's fine Robert isn't something more is going on here-

Sleep takes over just before he can jolt upright with realization.


	13. Black and Blue Once Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry about the update break - exams are coming up at school and it's all pretty time-consuming.

Aaron asks Paddy to give him a lift to the hospital the next day. He doesn't provide a reason, ignores Paddy's repetitive questions, but the urgency in his voice he doesn't attempt to conceal makes it clear that whatever's happened, it's worried him enough to have him visibly panicking as the car rolls into the parking lot. Even the car park's hectic, with screaming ambulances speeding in and out all over the place, and clusters of family members swarming round as they sob over bad news they've received. Aaron gives Paddy a quick thanks and dashes out of the vehicle before he can be pulled back in and quizzed.

He's always hated hospitals. No matter how blindingly-white the walls and sheets are, the air of melancholy hangs over every corridor and every room, over all the shoulders of anxious, waiting relatives, and he's not sure if he'll be allowed into Robert's room but he asks anyway. Thankfully he is, and when he finally locates the room, there's a smattering of faces he recognises - Diane, from the pub, Robert's step-mother; young Victoria, Robert's sister, who Robert (and Adam) absolutely adore; Andy, Robert's brother, and from what Aaron's discovered from their nights in the pub together, the brothers' relationship is more than tumultuous, but they do love each other, like all brothers should. They greet him, thank him for being there and inform him that there's been no change since yesterday. Robert's still silent in his coma, which was actually medically induced, and Aaron's not sure if he wants to see the extent of the damage caused but he knows he'll have to sooner or later.

When he finally does, the heart monitor's beeping rhythmically and there's tubes and wires everywhere and when Aaron gets a good look at his lover's face, his insides churn.

The injuries that Robert has previously adorned - the black eye, the gash on his cheek - well, they're cat scratches compared to ones which mar his skin now. 

The most violent, traumatic injuries grab his attention first, the areas which have clearly been targeted more than once. His left eye is swollen shut entirely, a vibrant, ugly shade of purple, and his other eye has barely escaped with an encompassing red bruise. Cuts and bruises of varying colours litter his flesh, dotted round in places where stray punches must have landed, frequent and frantic punches wanting to cause the most pain to every area susceptible. 

But it's his lip that makes Aaron heart sink. The laceration carved down the delicate corner of Robert's lips screams in contrast against his pale skin, practically glowing red with fresh, recently-surfaced blood. It's harsh, harsh and brutal, and bound to leave a pretty impressive scar. He's never seen an injury like it caused by a fist, not during the years of boxing he's participated in, not during any of Jeremy or Ross' bloodthirsty fights. A lip might split easily beneath a knuckle, but the skin around the mouth? The soft, cushiony flesh that will bruise and swell but stand quite a bit of blunt trauma before opening? Unless a sharp object is introduced...

Aaron doesn't finish the thought. He doesn't particularly want to imagine it.

He's received less brutal injures in matches. Even the one where he was booked to lose, he escaped less scathed than Robert now. 

Oliver's nowhere to be seen, and it's probably for the best, as Aaron doubts he'd be able to keep back from pinning Oliver down and beating him within an inch of his life, placing him in the same situation Robert's in now. Of course he isn't here, it's no surprise. He's the one who put him here.

Aaron can see why Oliver probably got away with the car crash excuse, and if he wasn't aware of the relationship, Aaron probably would have swallowed it as well, but when he returns to the waiting room, there's steam pretty much pouring from Andy's ears in fury.

"I'm gonna kill him," he mutters through gritted teeth, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I'm gonna  _kill_ Oliver."

"It was definitely him, then?" Aaron asks uneasily, taking a seat, and he's met with a series of nodding faces, from all of Robert's worried relatives. "How long has it been going on?"

"A while," Victoria answers, looking pale. "We've called the police a couple times, but Robert, being Robert, managed to come up with some excuse."

"I just _don't_ understand - _why_ did he stick around?" Diane queries in a hushed voice, as confused as everyone else. "Why did he protect him?"

Andy just shrugs, unable to conjure any explanation, but Victoria wraps her arm around her step-mother's shoulders.

"You do a lot to protect the people you love."

Aaron nods in silent agreement. He's been there before.

 

~

 

He pays a swift visit to the gym and fills a wide-eyed Adam in on what's happened in the cold back alley as they share a lighter.

"Fuck," Adam breathes, along with a mouthful of cigarette smoke, after Aaron's finished describing the extent of Robert's injuries. "You should get this Oliver bloke in the gym. Sounds like he knows how to punch."

"It's not funny," Aaron frowns, draining the last of his cigarette and immediately pulling out another one. Chain-smoking, an old nasty habit. "He looks fucking awful - Oliver's excuse was that he was in a car crash."

"Shit... and he's in a coma?" Adam shoots his friend a wary look as the second cigarette swiftly begins to drain away, and Aaron exhales a ribbon of grey smoke before nodding. "Hey, are you alright? You seem kinda cut up about all this."

"Well, my mate _did_ just get beaten up," Aaron scoffs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Adam shoots him a look.

"Yeah, but he's not just a mate, is he?" he replies, and it feels like a kick to the stomach, because Aaron knows he's completely right. "I mean, I dunno how you feel about him an' all, but you  _are_ \- or were- sleeping with him."

The silence is filled by the rumbling of passing cars and the buzz of chatter coming from the nearby pub, and it swallows Aaron whole as he stares down at the cracks in the floor, letting the cigarette burn lazily in his hand. He doesn't know. He doesn't know how he feels about all this. If it was Adam lying in that bed, he'd be equally as angry, and there's no doubt he'd be beating the living shit out of the culprit, but with Robert... 

As much as he despises Oliver, he knows he'd much rather be by Robert right now. Be there when he wakes up, be there to find how what the fuck really happened, be there to help him. 

"I dunno," he mumbles eventually, and Adam gives him a sympathetic pat on the back before heading back inside, tossing the crumpled cigarette into the drain.

 

~

 

It's when Aaron's in town, purchasing multiple rolls of decent handwraps, when he receives a text from Victoria that's just three words but it makes his heart soar. 

_He's woken up._

 

~

 

The medicinal odour of the hospital lingers in the air, pungent and unpleasant, and by the time Aaron's located Robert's room again in the labyrinth of corridors, the smell's running rings in his head. The same trio of relatives are there, their looks of worry now replaced with expression of sheer relief - there's even a smile tugging at Victoria's lips - and when the doctor arrives and informs them that only two people at a time are allowed in the room (they don't want to overwhelm him), Vic and Andy jump at the chance, leaving Aaron and Diane outside, patiently waiting their turn.

"It's nice to see you here," Diane shatters the silence with a grateful smile, and Aaron's not sure how to react, so he just smiles slightly and nods. "I'm just wondering... how did you find out about what Oliver was doing to him?" She's the epitome of a mother hen, from her concerned frown to tone of voice. 

"I figured it out," Aaron replies, leaning forward in his chair. "He'd have new bruises every few days and never say where they were coming from. Then one day I saw him with Oliver and I guess it just clicked."

"It was the same for us," Diane says. "Andy picked up on it first. He never liked Oliver, and me and Vic could never figure out why. Wish we had now." She spits the last sentence with disgust. "His own mother couldn't even spot it."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Aaron says as reassuringly as he can, though he feels more than uncomfortable. "Besides, it's not like Robert spoke openly about it. He gave me every excuse he could think of."

"I suppose you're right, pet," she sighs, and then the door to Robert's room opens and out walks Andy and Victoria, both looking much more satisfied than they had before.

"How is he?" Aaron asks eagerly, standing up, and the siblings exchange smiles.

"He's fine," Victoria replies. "A bit jumpy, still, but he's definitely still the Robert we know. You can go and see him, if you want."

Aaron looks over at Diane, who nods and mouths a quick  _"Go on"_ , and that's all the encouragement he needs to push open the door and walk in.

 

~

 

The beeping of the heart monitor fills his ears again, loud and irritating, but it's completely drowned out when he sees Robert look up and, despite the constellation of bruises and wounds round his mouth, smiles at him. The large cut's been neatly stitched up, now a less-intimidating looking line that traces from the corner of his lips to his chin, but he still looks an absolute mess, tired and languished but the sight of Aaron has obviously fired some energy into him.

"How do I look?" Robert croaks, and although it's obviously causing discomfort, that stupid fucking smirk is there and it washes much more relief than annoyance through Aaron, who chuckles and approaches the bed, hands buried in his pockets.

"Honestly?" he asks, and Robert nods, raising an eyebrow. "Awful."

"You're too kind," he laughs, followed by a wince of pain that makes Aaron ache, and he takes a seat beside the bed. "I should listen to you more. You always said this would happen someday."

"I don't get it... what happened?" Aaron frowns, eyes focusing on the particularly nasty show of Robert's left eye. "What triggered it?"

Robert's smirk disappears, and the look of pain fills his eyes and he looks so guilty, so suddenly scared. He looks down at the pattered bed sheet, fiddles with the oximeter that's gripping onto his finger, and it takes nine seconds for him to finally get the words out.

"He found all the texts," he says in a voice that makes him sound so small, and it comes down on Aaron like a ton of bricks that  _shit._ He contributed to this. He's partly the reason Robert's lying here, battered and attacked, and immediately the guilt begins coarsing through him with such severity it clearly shows on his face, as Robert catches his eye and creases his brow.

"Hey, it's not your fault," he says reassuringly, though it provides little effect. "I should have seen it coming, really. What does he do the second my back's turned? Go through my phone."

"It's not your fault either," Aaron replies. "No one deserves what he's done to you. I mean, _look_ at you!"

"Okay, no need to rub it in," Robert answers, but it's humorous, and he's chuckling through the pain again and it places a subconscious grin across Aaron's face. 

"So, erm... what happens now?" he queries, and Robert sighs, looks back up at the ceiling. 

"Well, I'm gonna need crutches for quite a while, so hands off for the next few months." He manages to wink with the eye that he can actually open, and Aaron can't believe that even after being beaten to a pulp, he can still joke about the thing that pretty much caused the situation. It's a level of humour Aaron only wishes he could have. "And I'll have to hope that Diane has room at the Woolpack, cause I am  _not_ going back to that apartment."

"You can stay at mine, if you like," Aaron says, before he can stop himself, and Robert looks over at him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. 

"Thanks," Robert breaths, and the look in his eyes has Aaron almost swooning. Even with all the injuries and the tubes, it's just like Vic said - he's still the same old Robert. The same sarcastic, smug, unfairly-gorgeous Robert, whose spirit thankfully hasn't been broken as easily as his bones.

It's then when the doctor walks in, a young woman, conventionally attractive with her blonde hair scraped back and her eyes accentuated with liner. She's brandishing a clipboard, and offers the pair a bright, friendly smile as she approaches the machinery and quickly scans the readings.

"Afternoon, Mr Sugden," she greets him as she scribbles something on the board, probably relating to his consciousness. "How are you doing? Any pain?"

"My head hurts," he replies, wincing again as he speaks. "And my ribs hurt as well."

"Your ribs did take quite a bit of damage," she says, and flips over to the second page. "Well, your tests came back. There's no long-lasting damage, apart from your bones. There's a cracked rib, which would explain the pain. The cut on your face was rather severe as well, but it's been stitched up and it's not infected. All in all -" _scribble, scribble_. "- it's really only the rib which will require the most attention. I'll come back later to explain everything, once you're more awake and alert. But don't worry about anything, Mr Sugden. You're going to be fine." 

"Thanks, doc," smiles Robert, and the relief is apparent on his face, causing Aaron to mirror his grin.

"Call if you need anything," she says, to both Robert and Aaron, before walking out and taking all the uncertainty and worry with her. It's like a weight's been lifted off of Aaron's chest when the door shuts.

"So," Robert begins, looking back over at Aaron. "Is that room at your place still available?"

"Of course," he nods in reply, and Robert's smile glitters through the bruises and the cut which Aaron still doesn't know the cause of. 

"You're amazing, you know that?" 

Aaron shines with pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Aaron and Robert are now living together... should be interesting ;)


	14. Domestics

When Robert's finally released from his hospital bed, ribs crying in protest as Andy helps him unsteadily to his feet, and his patterned hospital gown exchanged for comfy, casual clothes, he's beginning to look a bit more like his old self for the first time in a while. He's still aching, still jumpy and bruised, but he looks more than relieved when he's out in the busy car park, breathing fresh air. His injuries, though still prominent and harsh, are healing slowly and steadily, their vibrancy fading over the hours and disappearing back into the colour of pale skin.

He's still weak, unsurprisingly - his steps are slow and incessant, with any jarring movement causing him to have to lean against the nearest wall and regain his breath, but the doctors have assured both him and Aaron that it'll be over soon, and as long as he doesn't try to lift anything heavy or complete any rigorous activity, he'll be good as new. So, they're resigned to the lift when the pair reach Aaron's apartment block, the clunky lift that jolts as it ascends and leaves Robert slightly woozy when they've reached the third floor.

"You alright?" Aaron asks as he locates the door to his apartment, the last room at the end of the corridor that smells of sickeningly sweet air freshener, and there's the vague echo of an argument from the floor below bleeding through the walls. That's another reason Aaron's apartment was thankfully cheap - the walls are like paper. Luckily it seems like most of his neighbours are single and apparently friendless, so there's little disturbance on his floor at night. The drunks live downstairs.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Robert nods in reply, though he's clearly wincing, and Aaron wants to tell him not to act so brave but it would be the most hypocritical thing to come out his mouth, so instead his slots his key into the lock and reveals the interior of his home to his new flatmate. He's never really realised just how small and cramped his apartment is, but ever since seeing Robert's, spacious and tidy, he's become aware of the lack of room. He has at least tidied up, made it look presentable - he does have to make a somewhat decent impression.

"You can take the bed," Aaron says without hesitation, tossing his keys onto the coffee table and turning to look at Robert, who's occupied with drinking in Aaron's shitty apartment, looking round with a strange intrigue Aaron doesn't understand. Once Robert's registered what Aaron just said, he looks like he's about to argue, so Aaron swiftly continues. "You need it, you've got to rest. I'll take the couch."

"Right," Robert nods hesitantly, hands buried into the pocket of his jacket. "Thanks."

It's then when Aaron realises that this new arrangement is either going to be really, really awkward, or surprisingly fun. He hopes for the latter.

 

~

 

Three days later and it's like Aaron's still living alone.

Even though they're no more than forty feet away from each other, Robert never seems to emerge from the bedroom, and the only evidence that he's even there is the disappearance of food from the fridge and an errant t-shirt Aaron found in a heap outside the bedroom door. He has no idea what Robert's doing, if he's even moving in there. For the first day he'd kept his distance, not wanting to seem clingy and irritating by leaping to Robert's side every time he heard a cough or a groan of pain, so he just knocked on the door and asked if everything is alright. It was usually answered with a call of 'yep!', sometimes hoarse, sometimes clear.

One day, Aaron's sat in front of the TV, flicking through the channels when the loneliness becomes annoying.

He walks into Robert's room without a knock or an announcement, and is met with the sight of Robert sitting on the bed, laptop on his knees, looking at the screen with a bored expression. He jumps like a startled cat when the door flies open.

"Oh, so you're alive, at least," Aaron exclaims, relieved at the sight of a functioning, healing man and not a corpse. "That's reassuring."

"Don't sound so disappointed," is Robert's sarky reply, but there's no malice behind it. His attempt at a light-hearted joke, most probably, and it still baffles Aaron how he can joke so easily after the recent events.

"You are allowed to leave this room, you know." The room looks the tidiest it's ever been. "It isn't a prison."

"I know," Robert says, eyes not leaving his laptop screen. "I just thought you'd appreciate it if I kept out of your hair."

Aaron's brow creases in confusion - great, so he's being avoided - and looks round for something that could coax him away from whatever he's doing on the computer and into the living room. He's no idea if Robert leaves when Aaron heads down to KrossFit; that's probably when he's been pinching the food. And that's when he remembers what he saw on the TV guide during the routine scroll through the channels, and it's a complete blessing.

"Well, there's a Die Hard marathon on tonight," he says quietly, and Robert's ears prick up. He's clearly also remembered that the last time they were sitting on a couch watching Die Hard, they'd been all over each other. "It would be pretty sad if I was just sat there, watching them on my own."

"Is that an invitation?" Robert queries, and there's a smile playing on his lips, a smirk again. The bruise on his jaw is yellowing, but his cut's not changed. 

"Possibly," Aaron smiles back, and Robert doesn't have to contemplate his answer. He nods in both acceptance and thanks, and it's genuine, sweet. "So, are you coming out of your nest anytime soon?"

"Lemme just finish this," he gestures towards his computer. Aaron nods and turns back to the living room, setting a reminder for the first film. There's five films to get through, each at least two hours long. If they even manage to stay awake for that long (unlikely), Aaron's glad he'll finally be able to have some decent time with Robert. He's missed him more than he'd care to admit.

 

~

 

Robert finally emerges from his room just as the titles for Die Hard begin to play, and although he's still shuffling slightly, he's not wincing with every step anymore, which Aaron supposes is a good thing.

"You must know the script to these films by now," Robert comments with a smile as he lowers himself onto the sofa, sinking into the plush cushions. Aaron chuckles, decides against nudging him and instead leans forward to retrieve his beer from the coffee table.

"And how many times have you watched through Deathnote again?" he queries, and Robert grins. "D'you want a beer?"

"Touche. And sure, thanks."

Aaron stands and plucks a bottle from the pack in the fridge with the flickering light, and throws it back to Robert who catches it with effortless ease.

 

~

 

It's not until they're nearing the end of the second film when Aaron notices just how close they've shuffled together over the previous couple hours. They'd begun at opposite ends of the couch, and between the numerous trips to the fridge for the necessary movie supplies and just wriggling to get comfortable, Aaron knows that Robert wasn't tucked beside him an hour ago. And now, he can feel Robert's chest rising and falling as he breathes, can see the details of the bruises and scabs on his face amongst the freckles and fading scars, feel his warmth against him and it's slowly driving him crazy.

He's no idea if Robert's even aware of their proximity, or if he's just as affected as him. He doesn't know what Robert thinks of him. He doesn't really know anything about how Robert feels about any of this. It's not something they're likely to discuss anytime soon.

That's probably for the best, as Aaron has no idea what he'd say.

They're at the part where John McClane dramatically lights a trail of petrol that's destined to blow a plane into pieces (yes, Aaron _does_ know the scripts to these films) when Robert sits up with a groan of pain and adjusts his position, ribs clearly beginning to pain him, and when he settles back down he's closer than ever and Aaron can feel himself start to harden in his jeans. He curses himself internally, hoping Robert doesn't notice.

"You alright?" he asks as Robert winces again, and receives a nod of reassurance in reply as Robert sets himself down and now he's leaning against Aaron, head on Aaron's shoulder, using him like some human pillow and Aaron isn't complaining in the slightest.

Does Robert even know he's doing it? Aaron unsure, but the small but noticeable smirk that fleets across Robert's face leads Aaron to think that he's probably not as oblivious as he's acting. It's an infectious smirk. Aaron feels it creeping across his own face pretty quickly.

They sit like that for the rest the marathon, until they fall asleep halfway through the fourth room. Aaron's arm is outstretched around Robert's shoulders, and Robert's stirred even closer during their slumber. They're tangled together like wires.

 

~

 

"Really? _Budweiser_?"

"You're telling me you don't like Budweiser?"

"You're telling me you _do_?"

The shopping centre's alive with noise, families weaving through the aisles and round the corners, armed with shopping trolleys and screaming toddlers, plucking various products from the shelves and arguing about how the home-brand products may taste like death but they're way cheaper, so they're clearly the better choice. The queues for the checkouts are a mile long as usual, and the alarms near the door go off every five minutes and bewilder the person who's set them off.

Aaron's grocery shop had been overdue for a while, so since nothing interesting was occurring at KrossFit and nothing remotely interesting was gracing the television screen, he'd dragged Robert out to get some fresh air and headed down to the local Tesco, which was only about a ten minute walk away.

Robert's injuries earn him a multitude of wary looks from passing mothers with their children, but he's too busy debating over which alcohol to purchase with Aaron to care.

"Carling?"

"You are joking, right?"

"How are you this picky over beer?"

"Says the person who just made me buy the proper cereal instead of home-brand."

"Have you ever tasted home-brand cornflakes? They're like pencil shavings."

"Fine, fine. Erm... Strongbow?"

"Yeah, Strongbow's good. Bulmer's nice as well."

"God, your taste is awful. We're getting Strongbow."

Their tastes on most things are virtually identical, but they seem to conflict when it comes to alcohol... and crisps. It'd taken a while for them to finally settle on cheese and onion.

Although Aaron's lived on his own for many years in his tiny, cramped apartment, he's not resorted to living on ready meals and Pot Noodles yet. He can't - he has to stay fit, and since he thankfully is quite skilled with a pan and a chopping board, the trolley's almost full to the brim with fruits and vegetables and food rich with protein (a _lot_ of chicken), and now he's cooking for two. Robert, however, seems to somehow remain unfairly toned no matter what he eats. And he's the reason why every time Aaron turns his back to pick something off of the shelves, when he looks back, there's suddenly a packet of some sort of sweet food partially hidden beneath the layers of health products, and Robert's twiddling his thumbs and trying to look as obliviously innocent as possible without laughing. He rarely succeeds.

"I swear to God," Aaron sighs as he fishes out a tub of Ben and Jerry's, but he's giggling at Robert's pathetic attempt to conceal his smirk. "If you're going to buy ice cream, don't buy Ben and Jerry's. It's like four quid a tub!"

"Oh, I promise I'll share it," Robert groans, battering his eyelids, and Aaron just rolls his eyes and tosses it back into the trolley. Robert laughs in triumph.

 

~

 

Two days later, Aaron and Robert are sat at the edge of the couch, enthralled in a football game that's nearing its climax, when Aaron's phone start buzzing loudly in his pocket.

He pulls it out, expecting maybe a text from his mum or Vic checking up on her brother, but instead it's an incoming call from Adam, and it strikes Aaron that he's not spoken to his friend in almost a week. He stands up and ventures into the bedroom, away from the blaring noise of the television, and answers it, receiver to his ear.

"Hey 'up," he says, sounding cheery.

"Hey, mate!" Adam answers, the smile in his voice audible. "Where've you been? You've not been at the gym for a few days."

"Yeah, sorry mate, I've been tied up. Robert's staying at my place till he can find somewhere decent to stay."

"Oh," is all Adam says. Aaron can't decipher his friend's tone of voice - it's certainly not happy - and Aaron prays that Adam doesn't think he's just abandoned the gym for Robert. "Well, that's probably for the best, cause, erm... Oliver came to the gym today."

"What?" 

"He was looking for Robert. God, man, you should have seen his hands. His knuckles were shredded."

"Wha- no one told him, did they?" Aaron splutters into the phone, the panic rising in his voice. He can just imagine Oliver suddenly at the door, knocking on it persistently, searching for his ex.

"No, mate, of course not!" Adam's voice buzzes down the line, fuzzy and uneven. "But I'd make sure Robert doesn't turn up at the gym for a week or two."

"Yeah, yeah, noted," Aaron nods. "Anything else happen?"

"Erm, yeah," Adam replies, and now his voice is void of any happiness or optimism, and Aaron knows there's nothing but bad news coming next. "Well, Oliver's pissed at you as well. And... well... the whole gym kinda knows about you and Rob."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Aaron groans. Great, so Oliver had obviously stormed in, guns blazing, and yelled at the top of his lungs about his traitorous boyfriend and his lover, demanded to know Robert's whereabouts. "Should I keep my distance as well?"

"Well, haven't you got a fight in a few days?" 

"Yeah. I'm booked to win."

"Well, I'd avoid the gym until it's time to go into the ring. Ross has been sniggering none stop for the last half hour." 

"Deck him for me, please."

"With pleasure." The smile's returned, Aaron can tell - Adam's grin is about as audible as his words. "How is Rob, by the way? Can he still walk?"

It takes Aaron a few seconds to get the joke. Adam's suppressed laughter helps him. "Hilarious. Yeah, he's fine."

"Good. Well, see you in a few days, then."

The line goes dead, and Aaron returns to the living room just as Robert's celebrating an obviously impressive goal. The entire block of flats is celebrating it, in fact - their cheers seep through the thin walls.

"Anything interesting?" Robert asks when he spots Aaron, who sits beside him, closer than they'd begun a few nights back, and their figures slot together like jigsaw pieces, Aaron's arm falling almost subconsciously around Robert's shoulders. It looks so homely, so comfortable.

"No, not really," Aaron replies convincingly. He'll tell the truth when they're a bit more drunk.


	15. The Beginning

Aaron always thought a match he's destined to win would blow by like a breeze. Instead, it's almost as annoying as being booked to lose.

The crowd's substantially bigger tonight, an intimidating, pulsating gathering of supporters, some bordering on intoxication and others drowning in it. The roar they produce is deafening, a continuous drone that leaves a ringing in Aaron's ears as he blocks an incoming punch that was pretty aimless to begin with. There's sweat  _everywhere_ \- covering the ring, drenching everyone's clothes, lingering in the air. The humidity's palpable, practically chewable, not the best conditions to fight in but Aaron's aware he's going to get paid enough to pay the rent for his flat for the next eight months if this fight goes without a hitch.

And, thankfully, it does. At one point Aaron was beginning to worry that his opponent was going to throw the agreement out of the window and actually attempt to win, but no, he hits the mat when he's supposed to and staggers off with fresh bruises, clearly fuming. Aaron heads back to the changing room afterwards, pushing through the applauding, whistling spectators until he's safe in the damp, tiled room and he's untying his boxing gloves with his teeth.

As far as matches go, that one ranks just above the one where he had to take a beating. He hadn't realised it was possible to be so bored during a boxing match, but standing in the ring, landing punches on a non-moving target, not receiving any sort of challenge or fight back, it had just been tedious. Even if the match _wasn't_ booked, Aaron knows he'd have won anyway, but obviously Jai thinks he needs bigging up for some reason. Or he just thinks he's giving Aaron an easy day. Whichever it is, although it's better than taking a kicking for business, it's still nowhere near as exciting or as worth it as a real fight.

He peels his shorts off and roughly throws on a pair of baggy jeans and a loose, scruffy t-shirt, hoping to get as much fresh air as possible circulating beneath the fabric before the sweat starts pouring again. He's gasping for a drink, and when he's changed and out in the back alley, Adam thrusts a water bottle into his palm and almost shoves it up to his mouth.

"Watch it, mate," Aaron remarks, before gratefully swallowing down three quarters of the bottle.

"You comin' to the pub?" his friend asks as they saunter down the road, basked in amber from the streetlamps and harsh white from the headlights of passing cards. Aaron shakes his head as he feels his shirt stick to his skin. 

"No, I gotta go take a shower, mate." Adam nods in understanding - he knows how gross post-match sweat feels - and bids Aaron adieu before disappearing round the corner, bound for Victoria's flat. Aaron heads the opposite way, towards his own home where he expects Robert to either be flat out asleep on the sofa or going through another television series marathon. Last time it was Game of Thrones, with Robert watching the screen with anticipating and getting way more immersed than Aaron ever has with any form of media. Aaron had just lied back on the sofa, enjoying the show all the same but jumping more at Robert's reactions than the sudden death of a random character whose name Aaron can't even remember (they're all very long and complicated). To be honest, Aaron spent more time watching Robert than the television.

It had been quite cute, watching him get all engrossed and freak out every time a character he liked got into any sort of dangerous situation. He even cheered at one point, before collapsing back onto Aaron's shoulder in a fit of laughter. To be fair, they were both a bit tipsy at the time, so it wasn't long before Aaron had started laughing as well and they watched the rest of the episode like that, tangled together and chuckling like maniacs over nothing in particular. That seems to be the routine they've settled into. Come home, get just drunk enough to relax but not enough to cause a noticeable hangover the following morning, sit way too close together but not mention it, then eventually drop off to sleep in that position. Aaron often wakes up alone and finds Robert in bed instead of the couch, obviously having woken up in the night and staggered back to the room he was supposed to be sleeping in when this whole arrangement started. The couch isn't big enough for two.

 

~

 

When Aaron finds his apartment and walks in, Robert's perched on the sofa, laptop on his knees. He glances up at the sound of the door and pulls his headphones out, but before he can say anything Aaron's disappeared into the bathroom and under the steaming jet from the shower. He spends the next twenty minutes there, sighing in contentment and feeling his muscles untangle and relax. He resists the urge to jerk off - he really isn't joking when he says the walls are thin - and when he's finally feeling clean he can hear Robert talking to (or rather threatening) his laptop for whatever reason.

The mutters stop, though, when Aaron walks out in just a towel. He's rather smug as he feels Robert's eyes all over him.

"How'd the match go?" Robert queries, though he's looking nowhere near Aaron's face and both of them know it. That smirk's there, confident and cocky as ever, not obvious at all. Aaron's missed it more than he ever thought he would.

"As good as it could have gone," Aaron replies with a nonchalant shrug and a lazy smile. Another blatant once-over from Robert, one he doesn't bother hiding. "It wasn't a lot of fun, though. I would have beaten him if it wasn't rigged."

"And you call  _me_ arrogant," Robert rolls his eyes, but it's playful and flirty. 

Aaron just scoffs back and carries on into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and changing into the most comfortable clothes he can find, which ends up being a pair of cheap old lounge pants, and one of Robert's few t-shirts. He doesn't even realise it's Robert's shirt until he's got it on, but he laughs when he sees himself wearing Walter White's face on his chest in the mirror. It'd definitely be baggy on Robert physique but it fits Aaron perfectly, so he walks back out into the living room, takes a seat and hides his eagerness for Robert to notice.

It doesn't take long before Robert looks him up and down and huffs in amusement. "I've got a shirt exactly like that, y'know." It drips with playful sarcasm.

"I know," Aaron replies. "Very comfy, as well."

"You can keep it if you like. It's too big for me, anyway."

Aaron smiles. The shirt smells like Robert, of fabric softener and a hint of cologne, and Aaron sinks into it as he leans back into the sofa.

 

~

 

"Whoa, wait a minute... you've never watched True Detective?"

"Honestly, how many TV shows do you watch on a daily basis?"

"But you've never seen True Detective?"

"No. I've heard of it, though."

"Wh... right, clear your schedule for the next week, you've got some learning to do."

 

~

 

Three hours fly by and yeah, the show's actually surprisingly good, Aaron shows more interest in it than he did with most of the other boxsets he can recite the script to, and this one is clearly a favourite of Robert's as he knows every scene backwards.

Aaron's eyes are still very much focused on Robert's jawline instead of the television screen, though. He follows the curve of his neck, the scatter of yellowing bruises on his chin that are no longer tender but their marks still linger, not completely healed. There's a tiny scar just below his jaw, probably a razor nick, and every angle is just so unfairly chiselled, they look like they're cut from stone. Aaron's always thought Robert is pretty - hell, he's one of the best looking guys Aaron's ever seen - but it's now when Aaron realises how hypnotising he is. He can't take his eyes off of him.

He still sometimes can't believe his luck that he's been there, been underneath, on top of, all fucking over him like a rash before. He doesn't know what those were. The first one was angry, the second one was genuine... twice, that's it, yet Aaron can map out Robert's entire body like the back of his hand.

Does Robert think the same way about him? He's no fucking clue. He's too damn nervous to ask, honestly. But one night stands don't just come from the blue and alcohol, there has to be some level of attraction for the first move to be made. Besides, Robert made the first move both times. All _three_ times, including the drunken, messy kiss on his couch, where he'd tasted like Jack Daniels and honey and his shirt had been flung away and then Robert had remembered that he was taken and snapped upright like a spring and shoved Aaron off clumsily.

"You're missing the show," Robert's voice suddenly cuts through his thoughts like a knife through butter, and Aaron blinks, immediately feeling sheepish.

"Oh, erm... sorry," he mutters, sounding distracted, and Robert smirks, looking back to the screen.

"Y'know, if you just want to check me out instead of watch this, all you have to do is ask."

"You are so fucking cocky, you know that?" There's an affection in the sarcasm which Aaron can't conceal, no matter how hard he tries. Robert picks up on it.

"I'm not wrong, though, I am?"

He's not.

 

~

 

Aaron heads down to KrossFit the next morning, bright and early, prepared for the lashings of ridicule and teasing he's bound to receive now the cat's out the bag about his and Robert's infidelity.

The Barton siblings are already there, Adam and Ross kitted out in training gear and sparring lazily in the corner with Finn in the storeroom, going through a list of supplies, counting everything up. Jai's nattering on the phone in his office, and Heath whipping a skipping rope over his head fast enough for it to disappear into a streak of colour. It's thankfully not as humid today, so Aaron doesn't start sweating until he's changed into some rough sports kit and has begun work on one of the punchbags.

He can sense Ross sniggering behind him, and can only imagine the immature gestures he'll be making, but he couldn't really care less. Besides, it's a bit rich for Ross to take the piss out of him for sleeping for Robert - it's probably one of their closest similarities.

"Alright, mate!" Adam calls, sauntering over with his usual beaming, friendly grin. "Nice to have you back."

"Hey," Aaron smiles between violent punches. "Did I miss anything?"

"Well, Jeremy's in hospital again. Got three of his teeth knocked out. Ooh, and apparently Ross has found another fighter, so he should be here sometime today."

"Oliver hasn't been round, has he?"

"Nah, not for a while, mate," Adam replies, relaxed, and Aaron lets out a silent sigh of relief. "Besides, if he does turn up, nothing's gonna happen to you. Jeremy'll punch him through the floorboards if needs be."

 

~

 

Apart from the old tongue-in-cheek blowjob mime from Ross, Aaron's gratefully surprised that no-one seemed to comment on his newly-outed sexuality. Not even Finn, who now had grown even clumsier around Aaron, stuttering like a star-struck schoolgirl which Aaron found more cute than irritating. Overall, the day had gone smoothly, and with absolutely no mention from Oliver, Aaron's now convinced that maybe this whole thing will go a lot more easily than he'd first expected.

He's walking home from the gym when he passes the new Chinese takeaway, complete with blaring neon yellow signs and funky music, and the aroma the building releases has his mouth watering in seconds, so he whips out his phone and draws up Robert's number, typing swiftly.

_The new Chinese on the corner is open and I'm starved. You want anything?_

The reply comes back fast.

_Sweet and sour pork, ta. And prawn crackers. Always prawn crackers._

Aaron smiles and enters the shop, the smells devouring him, and places the order, before sending another text.

_OK, done. And you better have the next episode of TD on the tv or I get Mr Chang here to spit on your prawn crackers._

_You're an arse. It's already done._

 

~

 

They're sat in front of the television, hungrily devouring their dinner whilst the second-to-last episode blares on the screen, and Aaron has to admit he's gotten way more engrossed in this show that he'd ever intended to. Maybe the fact that he's watching it with Robert, whose excitement about it all is just adorable, has heightened his interest.

When the credits of the episode roll, Aaron finishes his food and drops the box onto the coffee table, chopsticks following soon after, before leaning back into the couch and stretching out like a cat. He looks over at Robert only to find a pair of blue eyes already on him.

"Honestly, I know I'm gorgeous, but I swear that this show is a lot more entertaining than I am," Robert remarks, also sinking into the plush cushion, and Aaron scoffs, biting his lip to conceal the smile (and failing).

"You really think you're something, don't you?"

"Well, I must be something if I'm sat here, on your couch, flirting with you."

Aaron gives in and allows his grin to spread across his lips, wide and unstoppable. Robert's eyes glisten.

"You're not very subtle, either."

"Get my tips from you, obviously," Robert smirks. "Pretty sure you spent the whole of the first series admiring me."

"Okay, then, remind me never again to look at you in case your ego inflates so much it bloody carries you away."

"Aww," Robert whines, a silly, ridiculous whine that has the pair of them giggling. "You'd miss me pretty quickly, I'm sure."

"You know I would," Aaron murmurs, and Robert catches it, his grin slowly shrinking to an affectionate, star-struck smile.

"Last time we were in this position -" Robert gestures around to the couch, the living room, the memory of their first kiss playing on violent repeat in his head. "- we were too drunk to see straight."

"Probably would have been better sober, wouldn't it?" Aaron replies, voice almost a whisper, and suddenly Robert's on top of him and there's a clash of lips and teeth and he's never felt more alive.

 

 


	16. Best Served Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice and dramatic, this one :P Two more chapters to go after this!

Aaron stirs awake later that night, finds his sluggish limbs completely entangled with Robert's, sees his clothes carelessly strewn all over the place and the abandoned cartons of Chinese toppled over on the coffee table. There's a weight on his chest, pushing up against him, and it doesn't take Aaron long to realise that it's Robert's sleeping, heaving figure, still deep in slumber and muttering incoherently under his breath. It's dark, with just enough light streaming in through the gaps in the blinds to highlight the corners of furniture.

He's sticky, he can feel it. Clad in only boxers, Aaron shuffles around slightly, gingerly as to not awake Robert, and rearranges himself into a more comfortable position as the memories of the previous night flood back in. Once they'd got started, they'd been absolutely no stopping them. It was pretty long overdue, and both of them agreed - it showed in the hungry way Robert had kissed down his torso, torn off his jeans, had him almost screaming. Aaron pities any of his neighbours who were still awake; they'd both started chuckling when halfway through, someone next door had begun hammering on the wall, yelling at them to shut up. 

Once he's finally gotten comfy, Robert still silently snoozing away, Aaron drops off back to sleep with a content smile on his face. 

 

~

 

He's jolted awake unnaturally by Robert throwing the curtains apart, allowing billows of white light to come flooding in and directly into Aaron's eyeline. He recoils like some kind of vampire with a groan, pulling a pillow over his eyes to shield them.

"Sorry," Robert apologises, and when Aaron's finally adjusted to the sudden change, he watches as Robert scoops up his crumpled clothes, gathering them in his arms. "Come on, it's almost one."

"Ughhhh," Aaron groans some unintelligible noise and turns over, coming face-to-face with the soft fabric of the sofa. He's just feeling his eyelids begin to droop when a mound of fabric comes flying over and lands in a heap on his head. It's his shirt (or rather, Robert's shirt which he'd nicked), and he stirs, groaning again like he's in some kind of pain. "I'm knackered."

"Get up, you wuss," Robert smiles as he disappears into the bathroom, claiming the shower first.

"It's your fault," Aaron calls, and when he's finally regained enough energy to move, he pushes himself up into a sitting position, wiping the sleep from his eyes and stretching his aching limbs. His joints are stiff, the inevitable result of lying in an awkward position with the weight of another human on your chest, and he desperately needs a wash. He's damp and sticky and he's not sure if it's sweat that's causing that sensation. "You're the one that kept me up all night."

"Didn't hear you complaining," Robert calls back, smirk audible in his voice, and the sound of water streaming from the bathroom is far too tempting to resist.

Aaron stands, wobbling a little, and half-walks, half-stumbles over to the bathroom door, pushing it open to reveal a cloud of steam and Robert lathering his head with shampoo beneath the waterfall, back to him. He's whistling to himself, clearly in his own world, and Aaron smiles fondly before stripping himself of his own boxers and rapping a knuckle on the glass. Robert startles slightly, turns round swiftly (somehow without slipping), but relaxes when he sees Aaron mouthing "shift over".

"Coming in, are ya?" Robert queries with an arched eyebrow as he stands aside, allowing Aaron to feel the needles of hot water cloaking him and instantly making him feel better.

"You always take ages in the shower," Aaron replies nonchalantly. "Time for you to share."

There's a constellation of fresh bruises flowering on Robert's neck, and Aaron's aware that he's the one who left them there, the result of teeth and lips instead of fists.

The silence is filled with the incessant pattering of water against the glass, the exhale of air when the shampoo bottle's squeezed, the rumble of passing cars, before Robert turns to face Aaron, watching him with a gentle, fond gaze.

"It's great staying here with you," he says, voice numbed by the water, and Aaron flushes pink. "No, seriously. You're a godsend."

"I'm aware," Aaron grins in reply, a playful piss-take of the older man, who just rolls his eyes and splashes a handful of water at him.

"Wow, how much did I miss with Oliver, eh?" he sighs, leaning back on the cold tile. "I'd almost forgotten what normal relationships are like. We were together three years, y'know."

Aaron doesn't want to imagine the violence and the arguments that must have gone down during that time. There must have been happy moments - some genuine intimacy, some true adoration, clearly enough to keep Robert around, filled with optimism that maybe that punch really  _was_ the last time. But it was toxic, toxic enough to land Robert in hospital, broken into pieces. His rib isn't paining him very much anymore - occasionally there'll be the odd wince, sometimes a grimace when he bangs his hip on the corner of the table like he always does, but so far he seems to have healed up nicely.

What strikes him next is the use of the word "relationship". It causes Aaron to furrow for a swift second, trying to deduce Robert's intention. Are they in a relationship? Are they going out? They haven't really discussed it at all. Aaron definitely likes him, and he at least  _thinks_ the feeling's mutual, but Robert isn't the easiest person to read.

"This is ordinary," he says with a hint of a smile. "Both people are usually happy in an ordinary relationship."

"I guess that's a good stepping stone," Robert says, before suddenly he's blowing soapy suds at Aaron and laughing like he's a kid. Aaron curses him, half-blinded, and is just about to turn the shower tap freezing cold and dart out before he's caught and Robert's close. Aaron beams, rays of sunshine coming from his smile, leans in and starts planting tender kisses down the hollow of Robert's hickey-stained neck. Robert shudders beneath him, and they spend the next half hour like that, up against the wall, up against the tile.

 

~

 

_jai wants you down at the gym. Get off of robert and get your arse down here._

Complete with repetitive alarms and appalling grammar, Adam's numerous texts send Aaron's phone buzzing as he walks up to KrossFit, wondering what the fuck's happened to get Adam sending message after urgent message. He arrives pretty soon, belts in through the door, and the gym looks no different than normal. David, Ross and Heath training, along with an unfamiliar, baby-ish face Aaron's never seen before (he decides that it must be that new boxer Ross has recruited), and Finn on a seat near the ring, tucking into his lunch with a newspaper on his lap.

"Oi, Nessie!" Ross calls when he spots him - Aaron scowls at the old nickname. "Jai wants you in the office."

"Yeah, I know," Aaron replies as he approaches the room. 

The office smells overpoweringly of air freshener, pine-scented and pungent, and Adam's in the corner with boxing gloves and ring of sweat staining the collar of his vest. He's got no bruises, doesn't look like he's been beaten up, so the issue most probably doesn't concern him. Jai's looking all business-like as usual, suit spotless, shirt pressed. He merely glances up when Aaron speeds him, slouched casually in his chair.

"Afternoon," Jai greets him with false enthusiasm, and Aaron frowns in confusion, casting a glance towards Adam.

"Hi... why am I here?"

"I got a call from a coach a few miles away. He says one of his boxers really wants to take you on. Says he's heard about you and thinks it'll be an entertaining match."

"I have got a phone for a reason, y'know," Aaron rolls his eyes sky-high, a mixture of frustration and relief washing through him. Here he'd come prepped for an emergency, and it turns out that some beefcake just wants to scrap with him.

"Well, I wanted to tell you in person." Jai's voice sterns, the way it always does when he's getting angry. "Not a problem with that, is there?"

"Yeah, actually, I was bus-"

"Nope, no problems whatsoever," Adam suddenly announces loudly, slapping a hand down on Aaron's shoulder firm enough to be a warning, before quickly escorting him out, shutting the door behind them. "Don't piss Jai off, he's not worth it."

"Isn't it a bit soon? I only fought a couple days ago."

"Jai clearly thinks you're gonna win it, doesn't he?"

Still, there's always someone better, and Aaron's more than aware of that.

 

~

 

"So, what was the big news?" Robert queries when Aaron returns to the flat, tossing his training kit onto the couch and collapsing down next to it. Matthew McConaughey's scrawny face decorates the television screen, one of their favourite episodes playing through.

"Nothing special. I've got a fight tomorrow," he replies, not hiding the disappointment in his voice.

"Am I allowed to watch this one?"  

Aaron nods; there's been no news of Oliver for a while, and he hasn't shown up at the gym acting all blood-thirsty for a while. He's probably moved away, found another man to belittle and abuse. Hopefully he doesn't get away with it this time, but as long as he's out of their lives, Aaron's more than happy to drop the issue and focus on Robert.

"D'you wanna order a pizza in?" Aaron asks as the episode reaches a climax.

"Sure. You're paying."

"Uh, no, _you're_ paying."

"Oh, come on. If you pay, I'll put out."

Aaron pays. Robert puts out.

 

~

 

The changing room is full with the sound of padded gloves smacking against pads, echoing off the tiled walls and lockers, accompanied by squeaky shoes and deep inhales. Aaron and Adam circle each other, not fighting with their true potential, just enough to get the blood flowing through Aaron's arms and the adrenaline whistling through his veins. He's been training all day, being careful not to reach his limit and conserve his energy for this fight. If whoever this guy is thinks he's tough shit, Aaron wants to bring his A game and knock him into next week. He's not having his reputation ruined in a fair match.

"Alright, dude, time out," Adam sighs, stepping away and yanking the pads from his palms, tossing them aside with a dull clatter. "You'll be fine."

"Hope so," he gives the most optimistic smile he can, before plonking himself down on a bench and waiting for Ross to give him the go-ahead. He knows the crowd out there's massive without having to be told - it's loud, roaring, intimidating.

 

~

 

Down the hall, tucked away in one of the grimy storage rooms, sits the opponent Aaron's about to face. He's a big bloke, nearing six feet and cut from muscle, and he doesn't particularly want to be here.

His coach had eagerly declared that he'd just booked him a match with a boxer from this tiny little village who seems to be kicking the arse of pretty much every fight he participates in, no matter how hulking or experienced his opponent is, he mows them down like it's easy. Maybe this Livesy bloke's a bit overhyped, but this dear boxer isn't going to say no to a fight which will earn him a shit ton of cash if he miraculously wins. Not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, this boxer, but he's got determination and brute strength and that's all that really matters when your job is punching the shit out of someone in the name of sports.

"Oi." His attention is grabbed by a voice at the door, and he's met with a person he's never seen before. Tall, toned, dark eyes partly concealed beneath a mop of brunette curls. He's clutching two boxing gloves, brand spanking new and obviously of a high quality, and the boxer practically dribbles at the sight of such equipment. "Use these."

The gloves come flying over and land in the boxer's lap, though not with the soft thump he'd been expecting. Instead they land with a metallic clang, and pain ripples through the boxer's thighs as he winces, picking them up and examining their peculiarly heavy weight.

"What the fuck's in these?" the boxer drawls, feeling around the pads, until he comes into contact with the front of the gloves and instead of spongy materials, feels smooth, hard, impenetrable metal. "Is there something in these?"

"Well, you wanna win, don't you?!" the brunette chirps, looking oddly delighted at the prospect of encouraging a sportsman to cheat. "They'll help you."

"Is this even legal?" the boxer asks, looking slightly bewildered, and the brunette scoffs.

"This fucking match isn't even legal. Look, just put the bloody gloves on, they'll feel fine in no time. Just trust me, use them, and this Livesy guy will drop like a fly."

"I don't wanna kill him, though," the boxer complains even though he's pulling the gloves onto his hands. They feel heavy, clunky, but not impossible to use.

"You're not going to kill him!" The man's tone is rich with underlying patronisation, which thankfully the boxer doesn't pick up on due to his distractedness and low IQ. "You're just gonna shake him up a bit. You'll win, and word will spread that you beat this prick."

"What if someone grasses me up?" The debate in the boxer's head is sluggish, but he does have a moral compass. It's tilting, though, when he imagines the wad of cash he'll receive if he wins this. Easily a grand.

"Anyone who grasses you up will just place themselves at an illegal boxing fight, for the police to see. People have got common sense."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," the boxer says with a heavy sigh, and the brunette triumphs internally. He leaves without telling his name. He doesn't need to - as long as the right people know him, he's more than satisfied with the way this match is about to play out, and he's going to stick around to see it.

 

~

 

_Ding ding!_

Round one. Tension pulsating, not enough punches thrown yet for the crowd to really get riled up.

This bloke looks like nothing special. To be honest, he looks a little slow, so Aaron's rather bemused as to what the guy's actually doing here. He throws a couple of fleeting glances in the direction where Adam and Robert are watching, both their brows furrowed and clearly whispering amongst themselves, also growing confused as to what all the fuss was about.

Aaron throws a punch. The guy dodges it at last minute. He throws another punch, a clever one, which the guy half-blocks and half takes the blow. His weakly-muscled arms ripple.

The man throws his own punch, a strong one, and when Aaron goes to block it, he feels the collision. The surprise knocks him back a few paces, his forearms suddenly burning way more than they should after blocking a simple punch. Whatever's just hit him wasn't just pure padded glove, that's for sure. He throws two more punches, one which Aaron ducks, the second one he blocks, and his forearms twinge again as they come into contact with something unusually solid.

The round ends and the two boxers retreat back into their corners. Between the swift check for any injuries from Finn, he just has time to breathe "there's something up with his gloves" before he's tossed back into the ring for the next round. Finn frowns, and watches with scrutinising eyes as the bell rings again.

_Ding ding!_

His opponent looks wary, uncomfortable, probably aware that whatever tactic he's trying has been caught wind of. It's not until Aaron blocks another three punches when his forearms are stinging red and it's clicked. _There's fucking metal in his gloves._

 

~

Aaron's never feared for his life in a match before, but now he knows, there's danger here. Real, possible danger.

And it's then when something other than his cheating opponent grabs his attention.  At first he thinks he's mistaken, that his eyes are playing tricks on him, but no, when he gets a few seconds to get a good look, his suspicions are confirmed.

At the back of the crowd, against the wall, wearing a leather jacket and a shit-eating grin. Oliver.

The price for being distracted is then paid. His opponent's fist flies up and collides with the underside of Aaron's jaw, at full speed and maximum strength, made a hundred times more damaging by the metal armour it wears.

Aaron doesn't need to hear the crack. He fucking _feels_ it.

His legs go from beneath him and a blackness fills his world, the same blackness that coats the inside of his eyelids.


	17. Comatose Conversations

Aaron now knows how Robert felt when he was trapped in a coma, and trust me, it isn't fun.

He can hear _everything_. Every ruffle of the sheets, the beeping of the heart monitor, the creak of the door whenever a doctor pokes their head in to check he hasn't died yet. A hospital never sleeps, is what the past few days have taught Aaron. Aside from the unconscious folk in their beds, outside in the waiting rooms, people scuttle around. People in uniform patrol the hallways, brandishing clipboards and pagers. Bored children fiddle with the water cooler, filling cup after plastic cup with water then abandoning them. Anxious mothers tap their foot with nerves or pace until they wear the floor thin. Phones beep and ring relentlessly. Families argue over whose fault it is that their precious loved one is on the edge of death. It's all unnecessarily loud.

He can feel everything too. There's an oximeter gripping onto his index finger, there's fabric beneath his arms and body, there's a pillow tickling his nape. An annoying breeze blows in every time the door opens.

And yet, he can't move. He tries and tries to move, but he _can't_. There's invisible weights holding down his limbs, his eyelids, pinning him down and denying him any control. Doctors walk in and discuss his state, describe his injury in details too graphic for his liking, and there's no way of screaming that he's right fucking there and he can hear everything they're saying.

How much time has passed? He's no clue. A few days, maybe. It's definitely been a while. Aaron doesn't really want to think about how long this hell is going to last. He's heard stories of people in comas for years, decades even.

There's no pain, just an ache around his neck and jaw, and he can't even remember what happened. All he can recall is the fight. A beefy fighter with strangely hard gloves, the crowd swelling with anticipation, throwing a few punches... cut to black. Nothing.

Luckily he hasn't experienced any of the horrific visions that coma patients apparently see, so he supposes he should count that as a blessing. Still, it's only slightly better. He's still stuck in a hospital bed with an uncontrollable body and a fully-functioning brain.

 

~

 

The first visitor Aaron hears walk in is Adam. He can practically smell the strong coffee brewing in the cup Adam's holding.

"Hey'up, mate," he greets, and his voice is softer and less bouncier than normal, laced with evident concern. The chair beside the bed scrapes against the floor as Adam pulls it out and sits. Aaron hears his coat rustle.

"Docs said you can hear us, apparently. I guess that's good news. Means you're more alive than you look." He takes a breath, a sip of his coffee. "Gym's dead quiet, mate. Everyone's too scared to come in. Or they're still traumatised. 'm pretty sure the whole street heard the crack when your neck went."

Aaron doesn't want to imagine the image of him sprawled out across the ring, neck bent back at an awkward, grotesque angle. If he could wince or shudder, he would.

"Ross and Cain got hold of the guy you fought, so he's probably in a hospital bed of his own. Jai's livid, man, absolutely livid. Not sure if it's because you've been injured, or because he's just lost loads of money, but nobody really wants to get near enough to him to find out."

He wouldn't be surprised either way as to which reason, but knowing Jai, he'll plump for the latter. Even though Jai's scrawny enough for any of the boxers to beat to a pulp, Aaron's heard the anecdotes of the men Jai sends to wreak the revenge he isn't capable of carrying out. Pissing the boss off isn't worth losing the rest of a boxing career.

"God, mate, watching it was awful. Your legs just went from 'neath you, and the fucking _crack_..." there's an audible wince. "Me and Robert pretty much scrambled in t'ring, and Finn. Good job Jai stocks up on braces - they had to carry you out in a neck brace and drive you here in Ross' car. Robert was damn near sure you were dead. Finn went paler than I've ever seen him. Hell, even Ross was panicking."

Shit, he really must have looked bad for the toughest guy in the gym to freak out. That doesn't instill much confidence into Aaron, who lies there still as ever, desperately not trying to picture the scene in his head. Think of anything else, concentrate on the noise outside. But the mention of Robert grabs his attention and then he's listening intently, more than he has in the past few days combined. How is he? _Where_ is he?

"Your mum's outside, by the way." That confirms Aaron's suspicions that he heard his mum's voice yelling outside a while ago, shrill and scared. "And Paddy came in yesterday. Robert... well, he took one look at you and went green. He'll probably be in later - he was here pretty much all day when you first were brought in; the guy's terrified."

All he wants to do is bolt upright and find Robert and tell him that everything's okay, that he can hear and feel, but he's not sure himself if he's going to wake up anytime soon. The more he thinks about it, the more crushing it begins to feel, the crippling uncertainty.  _When the fuck am I going to wake up?_

Adam takes a long, noisy slurp of his coffee before continuing. "Look, just... hang in there, yeah? Docs say you're getting better by the day. And if you don't want to come back to the gym, I completely understand - I wouldn't either."

The chair scraps again as it pulls back. "Well, I'll stop bothering you. Wake up soon."

The door swings open and Aaron's room is cast back into quiet, the heart monitor's beeping swallowing any silence whole.

 

~

 

A pair of visitors that really surprises Aaron is when Ross and Finn walk in, introducing themselves with a string of curses after Ross bangs his arm on the door handle.

"Fuck," is what escapes Ross' mouth when he catches sight of Aaron's unconscious figure, and he leans into Finn's ear. "Think he'll wake up?"

"He _can_ hear us, you know!" Finn almost splutters, melodramatically incredulous over the question that Aaron has no idea what the answer is.

"Oh, he can?" Ross instantly brightens up. "Well, Nessie, since you're probably wondering why we're here, Finn's come to confess his undying love." There's the sound of a hand slapping onto Finn's shoulder, and Aaron can almost hear the rush of blood staining Finn's cheeks.

"Shut up!" Finn mutters, embarrassed. " _Actually_ , we came to tell you about the guy who beat you up."

"Yeah... well, me and Cain got him up against the wall by his throat," Ross continues. "And he sung like a canary. Turns out this other bloke gave him the gloves and told him to use them. This boxer was thick as shit, so he went along with it. He said the bloke was tall, dark hair, curly, looked a bit gay. Know anyone like that?" He asks, and it's clearly rhetorical, but Aaron's too distracted to notice, as the penny drops with a clatter in his head.

Oliver. Of course. That's what missing from his memory. He knew, he _knew_ he saw someone he recognised before he was knocked out, and Ross' description injects the colour into his memory like the final piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Who else would have it out for him like that? He probably wasn't even trying to punish Aaron - more like worm his way to Robert. The panic runs through him like a cold sweat. Where's Oliver now, what's he doing to Robert, what's he got planned next?

Luckily, Ross' next sentence puts Aaron somewhat at rest.

"Yeah, well, we found the little fucker trying to bolt down the alley, and Cain went to work on him. Surprised he had it in him, to be honest. Anyways, Oliver's stewing in the street somewhere, if he hasn't managed to drag himself to a hospital. He won't be bothering you again."

"They put the fear of God into him, basically," Finn concludes, and Aaron's relieved, and especially grateful.

"You're welcome," Ross says. It's like he can read his mind. "Alright, I'm off. It feels weird talking to a corpse."

"He's not a  _corpse._ "

"Sure looks like one."

"He's going to be fine. The doctors said there's no brain damage."

"Like we'd be able to tell?"

"Shut  _up_."

The door shuts behind them and their banter continues down the corridor. Aaron laughs internally.

 

~

 

A few tedious hours drag by before the final visitor of the day pokes his head into the room, and Aaron's never wished he could sit up and speak more than he ever has in the past few days.

He recognises the voice immediately. It sends chills down his spine.

"Hi," Robert breathes, shoes squeaking as he approaches the bed and perches himself on the nearby chair. Aaron swears he can almost feel Robert trembling, and that doesn't help subdue the nerves that are beginning to creep into his veins. 

"Erm... so, the doctors said you can hear me. Hopefully you couldn't when I was a making a complete fool of myself a few days ago -" he couldn't. Damn. "- but it means you're on the right track. Hopefully you'll have a little more colour in your cheeks when you wake up." 

The legs of the chair scrape across the floor as Robert shuffles closer in, close enough for Aaron to feel his proximity.

"It was Oliver.  _Oliver._  He caused all this! He's the reason you're lying here, the piece of shit," Robert spits, voice suddenly thick with emotion, and it takes Aaron by surprise before the sympathy begins flooding in. Although he knows the occurrences of the incident, hearing Robert repeat them adds a painful kick he doesn't expect.

"I thought he'd gone, I thought he'd left us alone. I mean, he got his revenge, right? I just don't get why he came back for  _you_..."

There's tears creeping into his voice, welling in his eyes, and Aaron feels his heart  _ache_. He's never heard Robert cry before; he's clearly fighting it back, but his voice cracks and shakes uncontrollably.

"My fucking heart stopped when you got hit. I think the whole room stopped. I've never seen anyone fall so quickly, it freaked the living shit out of me. Apparently Oliver stayed round to enjoy the show, sick fucker, and that's when Cain caught sight of him."

There's a pause, followed by a deep, shaky breath and a scuffle as Robert moves closer, and suddenly there's a warmth encasing Aaron's hand. A soft, tender grip that Aaron's felt all over him multiple times before, so it's no stranger, but the feel of it gripping his fingers, interlocking with them, sends invisible shivers down his spine before the comforting heat begins to spread. Robert squeezes his hand gently, taking a second to compose himself.

His voice grows louder as he leans in gently to Aaron's unconscious body, and in his head, Aaron can barely breathe himself.

"You remember when you said we were normal together? Ordinary? Well, you were wrong. I think we're fucking extraordinary together, so don't you dare fucking die on me now, Aaron. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one's so short. I'm not a huge fan of it either.
> 
> One more chapter to go! The support has been insane, I love you all xx


	18. Deja Vu and Fingers Crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the final chapter!... four weeks after the previous one -_- I am so sorry about the delay - school caught up again, and exams got mean, then my laptop blew up, but now school's done for a month so I'm free to write. Anyways, here's the last chapter of Southpaw. Thanks so much for all the support and the kudos and the comments, it's been so much more than I was ever expecting and hoping for! I love you all! <3

He's not quite sure what's different, but something is. There's less weight, less pressure grappling at his limbs. They're still immovable, just columns of flesh serving no current purpose other than to ache, but they feel lighter, almost, and it freaks Aaron out completely. Sure, it could be him moving one step closer to wakening, but it also could be his body shutting down completely. The weight's gone, and maybe they're now just dead, and the rest of his body is next.

No, he's growing paranoid. The doctors reassure his loved ones that he'll wake up any day now, and there's no major damage (that they can find). He just has to wait this out. It'll be over soon, hopefully.

 

~

 

Thankfully, that chance rolls around much sooner than he anticipates.

For the past few hours there's been a pressure on his hand, unmoving and consistent, and it's all he feels before the sudden rush of ice that surges through his body jolts him awake. It's that fast, that out of the blue. His eyes fly open and light floods in, a harsh white glare, and before he even has the chance to recoil and squint, the true discomfort of the IVs and tubes embedded in his veins kicks in.

It's when he starts tugging at his main IV that the doctors come flooding in.

"Mr Livesy," one of them says, features softened by Aaron's unadjusted eyes, just a blur of skin and dark hair and pale blue uniform. "Mr Livesy, please calm down. Now, I know you may be a little confused-"

He's not listening to the doctor. He can hear a mixture of voices speaking outside, ones he recognises. His mum's loud tone demanding to know what's going on sticks out violently above the rest, shrill enough to penetrate the walls of his room, and the maternal worry in her voice stings. Paddy speaks next, in a more controlled tone, his questioning of occurrences a bit more polite than Chas'. That's always been their startling contrast.

His vision sharpens after a few seconds, letting the faces and the pattern on the bedsheet and the blinds on the window gain detail. It's all confusing, too blaring and alarming for the first few moments of consciousness.

Eventually the doctors stop faffing round him, once all the readings have been examined and his vitals have been checked. They exchange medical terms that Aaron doesn't understand, but they seem satisfied with his condition, so he doesn't fret too much. He's just grateful that his sight has returned, that the feeling in his limbs has come back and allowing him to feel the plush sheets beneath him once again.

The doctors filter out through the door and Aaron can see their shadows moving through the blinds, with one approaching his family and presumably filling them in on his condition. That guess is confirmed when the door suddenly flings open and in walks Chas, hair a mess and face a picture of concern.

"Oh, Aaron!" The relief floods through her both her words and her expression, and before Aaron can conjure a reply, she's flown forward and embraced her son, as gingerly as possible but the emotion is more than clear. "Oh, darling, you're okay."

"How are you feeling?" Paddy's voice pipes up from the doorway where his figure stands, brow furrowed in consolation. 

"Awful," Aaron tries to say, his throat struggling to formulate the words after a while of rest. It comes out in a hoarse, unsteady exclamation. "How long have I been out?"

"Four days," Chas replies, and that certainly takes Aaron by surprise. It felt more like four weeks. "Is it true, what the doctors said? Could you hear everything?"

He nods, the memories of all the overheard conversations flooding back: Ross and Finn, Adam, Robert...  _Robert._ Where is he?

"Oh, sweetheart," she sighs, clearly blinking back tears. "Your boxing friends filled me on everything that happened.  _Why_ , Aaron? Why  _there?"_

"It was fun." It's a pathetic reason, but a truthful one. "And it paid really well. It's not like anyone saw it coming."

"But you could have been killed." The tears come now, welling up in her eyes, and Aaron's not sure he's ever felt more of a piece of shit in his life. It's one of the worst things in the world, seeing your mum cry, but knowing you're the cause of it...

"I know, mum, I'm a prick." He doesn't really know what else to say.

And thankfully he doesn't need to, because there's a knock at the door, and a familiar blonde figure's there, hair a mess and eyes glistening.

 

~

 

"How do you feel?"

"Like shit."

"You look it."

"Oh, you're too kind."

Laughter's all Robert really has now to try and regulate his breathing. The nausea in his stomach, though still present, has thankfully weakened ever since he saw Aaron conscious and talking. It further weakens when the doctor informs them that yes, Aaron's stable, and though a little groggy, fully capable of seeing visitors. It's bizarre. The boxer looked like a corpse a few days ago and here he is, actually cracking jokes.

"Could you hear everything, then?" Robert queries, and Aaron nods, causing what looks like more relief to flush through Robert's expression. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Oliver," Aaron immediately replies, and both their faces fall. "There was a guy with metal in his gloves, and Oliver put him there. Finn and Ross filled me in on what happened, as well."

"He's gone, thank fuck. For good this time. He won't be turning up at the gym anymore."

"Yeah, well, neither will I," Aaron says, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks up at Robert, who doesn't look at all surprised. Instead he gently squeezes Aaron's arm, a reassuring application of pressure that says a million things. 

"You're not going back?"

"I'm not going back," he says affirmatively, more to himself than to Robert.

A silence passes, a comfortable one, before Aaron pipes up again.

"We've been here before, haven't we?" he says, quietly, and the memories flood back to Robert, who nods and even lets a smile creep onto his face. It's infectious, as Aaron finds one on his own lips a few seconds later. "Now you know how I felt when you were lay here, beat to a pulp. Scared the living shit outta me."

"God, don't remind me," the older man sighs, leaning back in his chair. "At least I didn't keep you freaked out for  _four days._ "

"Four _hours_ was good enough, thanks," Aaron quips back, and Robert actually laughs.

"Do you know when you'll be released?"

 

~

 

Three days and too many injections for Aaron's liking later, he's released to go home. He relentlessly bats off Paddy and Robert as they attempt to help him into Robert's car - "Jesus Christ, guys, stop fucking  _helping_."  - and complains about the amount of alcohol-free hours he's had to endure.

Luckily the lift works, even if the multiple splutters and shakes as it ascends the building are rather unnerving, but it's a hell of a lot better than taking the stairs. He walks slow and shuffling, even slower than Robert did when his rib was in splinters, and upon finally reaching the couch, collapses with an exasperated sigh. Robert shuts the door behind them, clearly just as tired, and sits beside Aaron, watching him with concerned eyes.

"I love you." It comes out of Aaron's mouth first, severing the silence. Robert glances up, unsure if he's even heard correctly, but the look on Aaron's face is deadly serious and Robert breaths, just breathes because that's what the past few days seem to have been all about. "I love you too."

 

~

 

"You're alive!" Adam beams as Aaron enters the pub. He's still slow-moving, his bones still ache and protest whenever he tries something even the tiniest bit demanding, but his strength is building back up and when he finally manages to hoist himself up onto a bar stool, Adam's arms are round him. 

"Yeah, well, I don't fucking feel it," Aaron huffs with laughter, and immediately regrets it afterwards as his head begins to pound. "How's the gym going?" he asks, looking round at the clusters of people dotted round, all clutching glasses or bags of peanuts. The other two Bartons are absent, presumably busy punching bags and patching people up.

"It's back to normal, but not as many people are watching the matches. They're all probably still traumatised," Adam replies, taking a sip from his beer. Aaron smirks. "No Robert with you?"

"Nah, I managed to convince him that I can walk on my own." As much as Aaron could get used to being waited on hand and foot, it had gotten a little bit annoying after a week of doing absolutely nothing.

"He's just worried about you, mate," he smiles. "Hey, by the way, are you coming back to the gym? Or are you calling it a day?"

This time, the answer's definite. No hesitation. His mind's made up. "I'm calling it a day."

Adam just nods. He understands perfectly.

 

~

 

The next morning drags by and Aaron awakens, clad in jogging bottoms, to the smell of bacon frying. 

His neck doesn't ache as much as it did before, so when he sits up and pushes himself out of bed, his head doesn't pound and hurt anymore, which is a welcome relief. Another pleasant surprise is the sight of Robert stood at the stove, spatula in hand and pulling various pots and pans from the cupboards.

"Mornin'," Aaron greets him as he approaches the older man, voice still hoarse with sleep. "Whatcha making, James Martin?"

"Full English," he replies, smiling as he feels Aaron behind him, and the grin only widens when he feels Aaron's lips trace down the hollow of his neck. "Go and sit down, it'll be ready in a minute."

He obliges, taking a seat on the couch and pulling out his phone to see he's got a voicemail.

_"Hi darling, it's mum. I was just calling to check up, see how you are now you're outta hospital. Give us a ring back when you get this, pet - you should come round for tea sometime, catch up with everyone. Bring Robert if you like. You should keep a hold of that guy, son. You've really got a good one there. He makes you happy, doesn't he? Okay, love you. Bye!"_

From behind the couch cushions, Aaron smiles. He couldn't agree more; he's never been happier.

 

The End.

 


End file.
